Complexus Amore
by LadySmallwood08
Summary: It's 1976. James Potter knows that the wizarding world is on the brink of war. Lily Evans knows that her life is about to get much more difficult. Alice Melifula likes gum. Sirius Black hates his family, and the feeling is mutual... Or is it? Rated very high T, for foul language.
1. The Clash

_Complexus Amore_

 _One: Should I Stay Or Should I Go_

 _(non; unbound)_

Divine simplicity cannot be achieved. It cannot be known. It cannot exist, for simplicity in itself is the absence of complexity, and without complexity, how can one know the meaning of 'simple'? You must have it. It must be there; this complicated aspect, which goes against the norm, be it small or large. It is there.

For Lily, it was the casket being lowered into the ground. Slow as a slug it went, and she watched it with a frown. The thing — made of cheap wood and covered in dirt and flower petals — was ugly, for it symbolised something she could not even begin to comprehend.

Her mum was dead.

How was that possible, when on Sunday she had been as bright and chipper as she always was? Lily could see her even now; blue eyes which shined when she laughed — they crinkled at the corners, just like Lily's — and her hair which was brown and newly cropped. She'd had it done just that Thursday...

Her dad took her hand, as though sensing her sadness, and yet he did not look at her. _This is your fault,_ his grip seemed to convey. _You and your kind._

 _If only you knew_ , she wanted to say. _You would hate me, then._

She let herself cry for one moment. Just the one, because it was all that she deserved. Lily held on to her father's hand as long as he would hold it. She took a bitter comfort from the contact.

Rain fell lightly; soft wet kisses that evaporated into nothing, only to be replaced within seconds. But they were colder than her tears. She wiped the moisture from her eyes and ducked her head as they turned away from the coffin.

Tuney — no, _Petunia_ , now — was sobbing under the boughs of a poplar tree, gloved hand brought to her bright pink lips as her mascara ran... Lily felt horrible. She felt broken and empty, and guilty; guilty for all of this. For being what she was.

She deserved every ounce of hate Petunia had to offer.

Dad placed his hand on her shoulder. He, too, looked near as bad as Petunia. And yet there was a certain element of composure about him. Dad had always been stoic. "I'll be along," he said, shakily. "Ought to talk to your sister..."

Lily nodded. A part of her honestly did not care what he did if it involved Petunia. Her sister was no longer a part of her life. She hadn't been since that day at the play ground when Severus had emerged from the shrubbery with all of his knowledge and bigotry.

Lily made her slow walk down to the station wagon, at the base of the hill. She stuffed her balled pale fists deep into her pockets and tried to ignore the sharp pains of betrayal (Snape) and sadness (her Mum) that threatened to rip her chest apart.

She leaned against the boot and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. A bad habit; one she'd picked up from Marlene. But recently Marlene had 'quit.' She lit and inhaled, slowly, savouring the taste and feeling herself slowly calm. Her jitteriness faded; her worries left, and just for a moment, she was a lonely girl at her mother's funeral smoking a cig.

It was very stupid and rather foolish, Lily mused quietly, that she should be standing here alone undefended when her mother — her sweet and doting Mum — had most likely been murdered by Pureblood supremacists. Lily didn't even have her wand on her. She'd forgotten it in her maudlin haste.

She dropped the fag when she saw her Dad approaching. She crushed the stub under a heeled boot and waited, not speaking.

"What did she say?" Lily asked, almost automatically. A bad habit.

"She's not coming home," Dad reported, fumbling around for his keys. Lily started forward, ignoring his surprised flinch (she forgave him immediately for his eyes were so tearful and lost), and gently showed him that he was already holding them.

"Not even for the weekend?" Lily asked softly, feeling her stomach drop.

Dad shook his head. He made for the car. "No." He wiped his wet nose, sniffing. "Says her fiancé is waiting for her, or some other such nonsense."

"Oh." Lily cleared her throat and slid in next to him, a little startled at the revelation that she was actually relieved. And, more over, that she was having this conversation at all, on such a day. That such a day was even occurring. "Are you sure you can drive?"

Dad flushed. He did not like being underestimated. "'l be fine, Lily," he said quietly. Then they were making their way down the road, away from the inevitable flurry of traffic that would build up given so many of their relatives had come into the village for the funeral.

Their house — a small thing, it was — sat just as it had before; right next to the bakery and across the way from the pub and primary school. It was only one story, and rather crooked with a thatched roof and shutters. There were two rooms and an attic.

Dad would take Petunia's old room, they had worked out, and Lily would take his and Mum's. It was easier that way; less memories. Less familiarity.

"'hate parallel parking," Dad muttered to himself.

Lily tapped her fingers against the dashboard. She chewed her nails with the other hand. A bad habit.

Her room was larger than Petunia's had been; pale blue walls, a queen-sized bed with a mirror mounted above it, her mother's vanity, and the dresser she and Dad had shared. Everything had been stripped of personality. Where before there had been paisley patterned bedding, there was now a bare mattress. And there, in the corner, there had been a shelf of books and pictures. Now it was empty.

Lily's belongings — what little of them there were — sat on the floor. Two boxes, her Hogwarts trunk, and six stacks of books that went as high as her waist. She sighed, stripping off her jacket and shoes, and set to work.

It was hard. Not because the task itself was difficult, but rather because her hands were shaking and her knees felt so weak. She was bare; stripped down to the lowest level of herself and put up for display like some ugly trophy.

Her mother was dead. Mum, who baked cookies twice a week and passed out candies at the primary. Mum, who had braided her hair every morning until Lily was eleven. It was her Mum, who drove the village children to and fro, and made soups and casseroles for sick families. Mum, who had loved her. Who would never blame her.

And yet Lily blamed herself. Why was that? Why did she feel the constant need to crush herself down into something worthless?

A knock on her door startled her out of her revere. Dad stepped in, awkwardly. He looked so thin and frail. His hair was only a wisp of what it had once been, and the lines on his face seemed deeper; more pronounced.

"Love," he greeted, watching her stack her records atop the dresser. He would only look at her, she knew. Nothing else in the room. "I could cook us up some supper, if you'd like...?"

Lily paused her frantic sorting. She gently set her crate of sleeves down and turned to her Dad, whom had just lost his wife and was now offering to make supper, rather than mourn in silence. Rather than cry for her, as he had done these last few days whilst Petunia rushed around planning the funeral as though it were a wedding.

"Ms. Baker brought round bangers and mash," she said. "I can heat those up. You should rest."

Indeed, he should have. But he didn't. "I'll make it," he told her. And then he was gone. Lily huffed lightly and sat down on the end of her bed. God, it wasn't even her bed. It shouldn't have been. She felt selfish, now, for taking it. Dad would be sleeping on some dingy twin sized metal trap whilst she had this... Which smelt faintly of lilac perfume.

* * *

James watched the cigarette fall. It went from his fingers to the grounds below, now naught but ash. He stared at it for a moment, unsure, and then leaned back against the windowpane. Today was a good day, it would seem; the sun was high and shining, the gardens were newly hedged, and the sky was utterly cloudless.

But James Potter was all alone. Sirius was at his parents house, Remus likewise, and Peter had gone back to his mum's the day before. Which left James Potter completely, unequivocally alone. Alone with his thoughts.

He had concluded long ago that this was the worst sort of alone a person could be; when your mind ran unrestrained and there was nothing to distract you from the truth. And the truth was that James Potter was afraid.

Afraid, he supposed, of this war. This inevitable war which aimed to wipe out an entire subculture. This war which not only targeted muggle-borne but muggles on the whole, and half-bloods, and Purebloods as well, in a different sense. Innocent people. Good people. They were all dying left and right.

He had to do something, he knew. Not for glory or recognition but because standing up to Voldemort (and he refused to call him that uncouth pseudonym _You-Know-Who_ ) was right. It was what had to be done. And the D.M.L.E. was not doing _anything_. They weren't _fighting_. James hated it. He hated that there were people out there who supported Voldemort's notions. He hated that the Pureblood supremacists were funding him. God, couldn't the D.M.L.E. work with Gringotts to figure out who was providing him with the means for his campaign? Was it _that hard_?

James sighed. He slipped off of the edge of his window seat and crossed his room — which was rather large and scattered with mess, but when you had a room so big, the mess always seemed smaller. James had forbidden the house elves from cleaning it, much to their dismay.

He lit up again, taking in a long drag. As he smoked, he sorted through the piles of clothes and books and papers as his mother had instructed him — or rather, ordered — to do. The discarded items were so old he found parchment slips from third year.

When he was done, he made his way down to the study, meaning to seek out that Transfiguration volume he had found in the library the other day. James had skimmed over it earlier, discovering such complexities of which he had not even discovered yet — much to his dismay.

And yet on the way he was stopped, for there in the foyer were his mother and father, along with a rather stumped, deformed wizard he knew to be Alastor Moody. But that was not all; here were Dorcas's parents, and Dorcas herself. And... Was that Arthur Weasley?

James descended the stairs the rest of the way. "Good evening," he greeted, uncertain. Especially given the fact that they had all spotted him and were, frankly, staring.

"James," Mum said, a fixed smile on her face. "I thought you would be at Remus's..."

James was quite amused with the hidden sheer terror in her voice. He grinned, stuffing his hands in his pockets and leaning against a pillar. "Didn't feel like going," he lied moderately.

Dorcas greeted him. James greeted her, in turn, putting on a formal facade which would, hopefully, deter their parents attention elsewhere. Indeed, soon enough all of the rest of them were talking amongst themselves, leaving James and Dorcas off to the side.

"What are they all doing in my house, Dorky?"

Dorcas punched his shoulder, which did not hurt given she was only five foot and light as a feather. Her fluffy black hair had been pulled back into some braided updo. He towered over her, which amused him, given that for the first three years of their Hogwarts career she had teased him about being so short. She had stopped growing that year.

Oh, how he loved karma.

"Mum and Dad wanted to meet with your folks about some sort of financial contract. Arthur is here, I think, because of something about muggles..." She bit her dark lip. "Everyone knows your parents mean to make a stand against You-Know-Who, so he came here."

"And Moody?"

"Oh, I have no idea about him," Dorky shrugged. "God knows he keeps to himself."

"And they all just happened to show up on the same day," James observed. "A day when I wasn't even supposed to be here." He kicked off of the wall. "Come on, I'll show you around." He paused. "You've never been here before, have you?"

Dorky shook her head. "Not since I was four, which I don't remember, so I don't reckon it counts."

"No," James agreed. He led her around, showing her the library, the study, the spare rooms, the kitchens, the dining hall and the sitting rooms, the tea room, the lunch room, the sun porch...

Dorcas made constant noises of surprise and proclamations of envy. "My house is only two stories, and half of the rooms are boarded up," she said quietly. "I mean, there are places in my own home I've never even been."

"Maybe it's for the best," James said. "The Meadowes used to be a dark family, didn't they?"

Dorky sighed. "Yeah, unfortunately," she shrugged. "So, how are things with your mates?"

"Dork, it's only been three weeks—"

"Yes, but you're the _Marauders_ , James," she grinned, "crazy shit happens round you in three seconds, not to mention three weeks."

James could not help but smile, but even then it felt slightly forced. God, he'd been thinking too much. Far too much about too many things. All of those petty pranks he'd pulled; all of the defenceless students he'd hexed — all to show off his proficiency with a wand. He was no better than Bloody Voldemort.

"I've not heard from Sirius," he found himself saying, "but that's no surprise; usually things are quiet in the summer. Because of his family, you know." They were now in the kitchens. James sat down next to Dorky on a stool at the counter. "As far as Remus goes, we decided it would be better if he stayed here. He's coming this weekend."

"And Peter?" Dorcas grabbed a muffin.

"Fine. Says things have been quite boring. He'll be staying over as well." James took the proffered bit of muffin. "What about your mates?"

Dorky chewed. "Marlene got a car," she said after a moment. "Felicity says she's been reading, as usual. She sent me _book recommendations._ " Dorky shook her head, though she was smiling. "Ingrid's been quite silent, but she usually only sends letters once a month. Never has the time, she says, but I just think she's lazy."

James nodded, smirking. Ingrid did indeed have a tendency to be rather sluggish and unmotivated even during the school year. James couldn't imagine what she must be like in summer. He wiped the crumbs from his hands. "And Lily?"

Dorky's eyes softened, but they held a certain steel. "Oh, James..."

"I'm just asking!" He said hotly. "God, she does exist you know. It's not like I can just... Just ignore her!"

"I'm not asking you to," she said. "I... To tell the truth, I haven't heard from her, either. I'm getting a bit worried. I mean, Lily _loves_ writing letters. In second year she would write all sorts of little missives to us because... Well, because she's a softie."

"But _you've_ written to her?"

"Oh, yeah," Dorky nodded. "A week ago. I'm going to ask my parents if I can go see her tomorrow."

James bit into his cheek, but it did nothing to stop what came out of his mouth. "I could go with you," he said.

Dorcas raised her eyebrows. "No," she said. "No, for two reasons. One: you don't even know where she lives, and two: she hates you."

James's heart sank. "She does? Did she say that?"

"She didn't have to," Dorcas grumbled. Then she paused, contemplating her words. "Do you know what, James? Suddenly, I'm really not sure if she does hate you. I mean, she rants about being pissed off at you all the time, and she tore up the dorm in her anger, and you and she fight all the fucking time—"

"Alright, I get it."

She hated him. And he fancied her. Quite a lot, actually. Maybe she knew that, and maybe she didn't. Well, he'd asked her out at the end of last year... That was sort of a giveaway. But even so, James would not mention it ever again.

He'd made a reslove, that day. No more hexing unless causes were warranted, and no more thinking about Lily Evans. The first, because seeing the look on so many faces around him after reading Sniv— no, Snape — had jolted him into the unfriendly reality that he was a bully. A foolish bully who had a bigger fight to concern himself with; the fight for what was right. And how was he meant to fight for such a cause when everything he did was wrong?

And the latter, of course, was because thinking about Lily Evans always made him sad, these days.

* * *

Alice Melifula sat next to her cousin and across from her father, stirring her soup with a gloved hand. They were all quiet, today, for whatever reason. Alice resisted the urge to roll her eyes at their dramatic, half-hidden glares and shottily concealed whispers.

It had been going on like this since she came home from Hogwarts. Araminta had even hexed her, once, but that had ceased for whatever reason.

Now Alice had had enough. She scowled and dropped her spoon, which appalled her mother, and looked between all of them. "What in the hell is going on with you lot?!"

"Language, Alison!" hissed her mother, at the same time as her father said, "Your watch your mouth, girl!"

She really did roll her eyes, then. "Fine," she said, mustering her dignity. She straightened her back and adjusted her lap napkin. "I was merely curious. Forgive me."

The words hurt to say. They were hard to form. She hated having to talk like this, in a place that should have been relaxed and comforting. Instead it was cold and harsh. She hated coming here. She hated that her mother had insisted upon it.

Andreah cleared her throat, looking to father for permission to speak. He nodded, shortly, and tucked into his meal once again. "Your father has killed a muggle," she said. Just like that. As though it were an every day, normal occurrence. Like there had been nothing to it at all. Like it wasn't even... Like...

And that was when Alice Melifula realised that she and Sirius Black had a lot more in common than she had previously assumed.

In her state of shock, she could not stop Andreah from chattering on about it. "He went muggle-baiting with that young Lucuis Malfoy and a few others," she said, casually. "They killed her in — Cokeworth, did you say, dear?"

"Indeed." Jerold sipped.

That was it. That was the ball, dropping and crushing the God-damned toe. "Excuse me," she said, rising from the table which housed a murderer and two brainwashed women. "I am not hungry."

Jerold looked up mildly. "Does the talk of murder frighten you? Aren't you supposed to be _brave_?"

He was mocking her, the son of a bitch (and Grandmother Willma truly was a bitch). He was mocking all Gryffindors. Alice stood there for a moment, shrunken and defeated, her palpitating heart pounding in her ears and her hands shaking with both rage and fear.

Oh, but being frightened was no good! It never was! Where was this going to get her?

Nowhere, she realised. And so Alice ran, like the skittish bird she was, up the stairs and to her room where she locked the door with the most secure charm she could think of. With a wand. Because she was seventeen. And had no obligation to be here.

Alice sucked in a breath. She then proceeded to tear of this silken, beaded dress her mother had forced her into and threw it onto the floor. That left her in her bra and panties. Shivering, she rummaged through her Hogwarts trunk and withdrew some borrowed clothes from Lily. A muggle tee and jeans. She pulled them on, frantically, and did her best to pack her things.

It was a quick process, during which she had not one but two panic attacks. She panted and dropped stacks of books, hands shaking as she stuffed scraps of parchment into her trunk. _Just pack. Just go. Just go... Go where?_

Oh God. She paused, right there in the middle of her room, which was part of the house her father, the murderer, owned. Oh God. Oh God. _Oh, what the hell do I do?!_

She clawed at her heart, hyperventilating. Shaking. Trembling. All of those horrible words were all she did for five straight minutes. She could not think or speak or breathe. Oh, God, she was going to die here, wasn't she?

No. She would not. Going against her own fear was a hard thing, but it was a thing that was necessary in that moment, because she could not let it take her. She could not surrender to the things that had made her artificial and pathetic.

She spotted the letter on the writing desk. And innocent thing, it was. But also it was a ray of light. A beaming smile.

 _Frank._

 _Oh._

 _Duh._

She lunged for it, looking frantically for the address. Oh, this was so bloody pointless! How was she meant to get past her parents? They would find her; trace the last transport and fetch her like it had been nothing... Like murder was fine and running away was part of a fucking fad...

She could wait. She could wait. She would wait. Yes. Folding the letter up and shoving it into her back pocket, address burned into the back of her mind, she dragged her hands through her hair. It was long and a rusty brown and curled loosely. Her mother had made her wear a special clip tonight. Her fingers got stuck against it, but thinking it to be a knot she pressed on.

When she drew her hands back, she discovered one slit from mid-palm to just past her wrist.

 _Well, fuck._

In her right mind she might have healed it. In her right mind she would not have stood there, rather dumbly, staring at the wound that looked so like the other scars all over her body. Little thin white scars which she herself had made.

Frustrated, Alice ripped the clip out of her hair and threw it at a wall. It shattered the forgotten mirror, sending shards of glass flying.

 _Father murdered a muggle,_ she thought, stepping closer as though in a trance. _An innocent muggle..._ She picked up a bit of the mirror and stared at her reflection. She dug her fingers into the edges, watching beads of blood surface. _I deserve this. I deserve this pain. I... I'm the daughter of a_ monster _. Who says I won't be one, too? Who says I'm not already a monster? I'm nothing, to him. Expendable. Maybe he'll kill me next. Maybe I won't give him the satisfaction._

Her breathing was shallow as the glass dug into her porcelain white skin and split it into two halves. She traced it over an old, small scar. It stung. It hurt. Had it hurt when her father murdered that muggle? Had they suffered?

Oh well. It didn't matter. She would suffer for them.

No, no, wait... This was not right. She wasn't supposed to be doing this. _Frank will be so disappointed_ , she thought, sobbing. _No. I'm not supposed to..._

She buried her face in her bloody hands. "Frank," she whispered, curling up into herself. Oh, how she hated all of this. How she hated her weak mother. How she hated her crazy father and bitch cousin. How she loved Frank, so very much...

She thought of him. She thought of his strong jaw, his bright blue eyes and sand-coloured hair. She thought of his arms wrapped around her and his lips pressed against her own. No, Frank would not want this. He would only worry.

Sniffing, she crawled over to her wand, ignoring the sharp pains she received from the bits of glass now imbedded in her skin. She healed her wounds slowly, wand hovering over her arms. Even though they closed, the blood remained. Smeared over her skin and soaked into Lily's shirt.

She sat there, shaking, for hours. No one came for her. _Father murdered a muggle_. And no one cared! No one... No one... There — God, it hadn't even been in the Prophet! Wasn't that something worth noting?! That a wizard had murdered an innocent muggle?!

Bad stock, Augusta Longbottom had once said.

Bad stock, indeed.

After there were no more sounds from outside her door, she grabbed her trunk and dragged it out of her room, levitating it beside her as she descended the stairwell. There was the fireplace. Oh, thank God for it.

Alice threw in a handful of Floo powder, shouted "Longbottom Manor!" And then was gone.

* * *

Sirius Black was shoved into a wall.

It hurt, that. Grunting, he rubbed his shoulder. "Did you have to?" demanded he. "Wench?" he added, because it seemed to fit.

His mother hissed, spittle flying out from between her thin lips. "You... _You lay with a Mudblood?!_ "

Sirius wanted to laugh. He did not, though, because Regulus was standing right behind their mother with emotionless eyes. Gathering his courage, he righted himself. "Oh, yeah, that," he said casually, as though it were Tuesday's weather, "I did."

"And you admit it freely!" Mother raged, flicking her wand again. Sirius was once again thrown into a wall. He winced. "You _worthless_ shit!"

Sirius blinked, a bit dazed from the impact his head had experienced. "You're bat-shit crazy!" He growled.

Big mistake.

" _Crucio_!"

All at once the pain washed over him. It was everywhere; his head, his chest, his legs, his arms... A fire which flowed through his veins, licking at his lungs, tendrils of flame coiling around his heart. He bit down to keep from screaming, and yet it just kept getting worse. On and on it went, for minutes...

And then it was gone. Just like that. Sirius sucked in a breath. He realised suddenly that he was on the floor, curled up into a ball. Still his body stung and ached. His throat was raw.

He coughed, managing to push himself up. His mother stood over him with her wand in her hand, a mad gleam in her grey eyes and a sick smile on her face. Even then, mad as she was, she was beautiful. Like all of the Blacks.

But Sirius was not a Black. He had never truly been a Black. And this woman was not his mother. And Regulus had not been a brother for years. That honour belonged to another.

Sirius drew himself up. And then, towering over Walburga Black, he spat in her face.

Her eyes widened. For a moment she seemed surprised. Slowly she stepped away, grabbing Regulus by the collar. "You are a disgrace to this family, Sirius," she was raging, dragging Regulus... Toward the sitting room.

Where the family tapestry hung.

Sirius swallowed down his pain, pushing away the protests of his body, and stumbled after her. He did not get there in time, unfortunately. Just as he was rounding the corner, there was a loud banging noise.

"You blasted me off the tree?" Sirius demanded, looking between his mother and Regulus.

Walburga laughed. "You were never part of this family, anyway!"

"Fine," he hissed, nearly sagging against the wall. "Fuck _you_ , you bitch."

And then he ran — as fast as he could without crying out. This, unfortunately, was not very fast at all and resulted in him nearly falling onto his bed in a heap. He managed to lock his door with a quick flick of his wand.

And then he was packing; shoving this and that into his trunk, not truly paying attention through his daze. When he had grabbed all that he could carry, he paused, panting from the exertion. Normally, he would have been fine by now. Damn that woman...

Sirius grabbed the handle of his trunk and hauled it out of his room, leaving it behind forever.

His mother accosted him in the hall; shaking him and slapping him, screaming at him to desist. Who the hell used desist in a sentence anymore, wondered Sirius madly? He managed to throw her off of him. Then the front door was open, and it was raining outside. Heavy, hard rain which slapped against the pavement and froze the air.

"Go, then," Walburga hissed. "Die out there."

She retreated back into the depths of the house, leaving Sirius standing on the front steps of the house with Regulus not six feet away.

"Where will you go?" asked his brother, sounding almost uncertain of his own question.

Sirius felt as though the breath had been stolen from his lungs. In the back of his mind, he could picture Regulus at four years old, clinging to his pant leg with those wide grey eyes and a lopsided grin on his tiny, chubby face.

Tears blurred his vision now. His baby brother was gone; replaced by a young man who did not seem to feel anything at all. Disproving that was Regulus now, who was also crying.

"My brother's," Sirius said.

The door closed behind him with a slam. Sirius rested against it for a moment, out of breath. Water poured down upon his face; it was almost pleasant, given that he felt so fucking hot.

It all came to him in that moment, standing in the rain. He was no longer a Black. His mother had disowned him. And he, being Sirius and without a surname, Marauder extraordinaire and animagus, of course knew how to apparate.

Within seconds he was at the Potter manor, on his knees. His trunk lay on its side next to him. Sirius fell into the mud and wept. He sobbed for the family that he had lost and never had. He cried for his brother, and he cried because he hurt so, so very much.

James found him there. He grabbed Sirius by the arm and hauled him to his feet, eyebrows knotted together in confusion. "Padfoot? What the _hell_ —?" But he could not finish, for Sirius had already pulled James into the fiercest of embraces.

"They threw me out," Sirius whispered, horrified by all of it. "Prongs, I..."

James pulled back. "You can stay here," he said firmly, eyes alight with that familiar intensity which meant no protests and no doubts. It meant that what he was what would be. He would do whatever it took to achieve it.

James grabbed the trunk and Sirius followed him up the dark path to the manor.

* * *

 **AN: So, there you have the end of Chapter 1. Keep in mind that I only have the one chapter written. If the reception is positive then I'll absolutely write more. But I really only have a vague idea as to where the story is headed. Updates will be once a week until I can achieve solidarity, at which point they might increase. But I doubt that.**

 **AN 2: I plan to keep as far away from the cliche Marauder Era norms - not that there's anything wrong with those. It's just that, having read stories including them so many times, I worry they'll be overused. But no spoilers!**

 **AN 3: Happy September 1st, everyone!**


	2. Marmalade

_Two: Reflections Of My Life_

 _(non: meditation)_

"Oh, fuck."

Marlene dropped the letter onto the kitchen counter, a scowl contorting her lips. Thankfully, no one was around to hear her swearing, otherwise she surely would've gotten a lashing or two. Well, perhaps not literally.

More importantly, someone was dead.

Specifically Lily's mum. Which was honestly more worthy of an, 'oh, fuck,' than anything that had ever happened to Marlene. Except when dad had shagged his receptionist. That had been unfortunate.

This meant things. This meant very bad, very horrible things. It meant that no doubt Lily would be wallowing in a pit of despair, not even of self but of others, because that was just who Lily was. She would fret over her father and Petunia, and not bother to take care of herself.

Which meant that such a task felt to Marlene.

Sighing, she downed the rest of her butterbeer. It had been a gift from Sirius, whom she was sort of seeing. Well, they'd shagged. Once. And she was madly in love with him. But that didn't matter now; Lily's mum was dead.

That should have been her top priority. And honestly, it was — as far as mentality went. But conditionally, _her_ mum was at work, which meant Marlene had to look after Robbie and Felicity. Unless...

"Felicity!" She called, and then waited. Soon enough, her younger sister by ten months was practically bounding down the stairs. Her blue eyes were rather hopeful; eager.

"Was it an owl?" She asked, eagerly. "Oh, please, tell me it was an owl! I wrote Remus three days ago, and I haven't heard from him since—"

"You _wrote Remus?!_ " the elder demanded. "Remus Lupin?!"

Felicity flushed. "I made Prefect, didn't I? I need to be responsible. And everyone knows that Remus might as well already be Head Boy. I asked for advice." She sniffed, straddling a counter stool. "Anyway, it's not like we're _strangers_."

Marlene started when she realised the direction the conversation had headed. Ashamed, she picked up the letter again. "This isn't what I wanted to talk to you about," she said stiffly. "Listen, I need to go. You've to look after Robbie, yeah? Just until I come back—"

"I can't! Mary and I have plans to go to Fortescue's!"

"Just do it!" Marlene snapped back, absolutely infuriated at this point. Felicity flinched, visibly, which shamed Marlene instantly. Damn him, she thought bitterly. "I'm sorry," she said, much softer now. "I know I need to work out my shit. I'm sorry." She paused for a fraction of a second. "Lily's mum is dead. Now, I know you can take care of Robbie for a couple of hours while I go help her out, can't you?"

"But that's _awful_!" Felicity exclaimed. "You should have told me! Lily's my friend, too—"

"But she didn't write you," Marlene interrupted, once again impatient. She stuffed the letter into her coat pocket, the latter of which she put on. Then she was scooping up a handful of Floo powder. "My friends are not _your_ friends, Felicity."

With that she was gone, in a flurry of flame.

* * *

Lily stared at the bottle of amber liquid, contemplating. If she bought it, she would only have seven pounds left in her savings. It was rather expensive... But it was the brand her Dad always drank — when he _did_ drink, that was.

 _To hell with it,_ she decided after a while. The bottle was soon on the counter, between she and Porcelain Nick, who raised an eyebrow at her purchase. "Just ring me up," she muttered, pulling her pound notes out of her pocket.

Porcelain Nick tapped his fingers against the wooden slab. "You're only seventeen, Lily," he said smartly.

"Precisely," she said, in a clipped tone that reminded her very much of Petunia. "I'm seventeen, and I've just lost my mum, and my dad wants a drink, so _sell me the damn bottle!_ "

Porcelain Nick sighed. "Only the once," he conceded. "And only because I know you're an ace, yeah? Don't tell anyone. Don't be spreadin' this round the village."

Lily nodded, a little more relaxed. She exchanged the notes for the bottle and then slipped out of the building, stopping around the corner to light up. She had never smoked two days in a row — not since she was fourteen. With a small, almost nonexistent cough, she crossed the way to the park.

It was getting darker with every passing minute. Lily cracked open her bottle of scotch and drank. Little sips, at first, in-between drags. And then they became frequent and heavy. Her lips were alternatively wet and dry. Her head buzzed.

Her mum was dead. That was something she could not quite understand. Not yet, anyway, for she had not been gone long enough for it to fully sink in. And yet, there had been no Vivian Evans behind the stove that morning. No mum to kiss her cheek and wish her a good day. No mum to make off-hand, sly comments that her father grinned at and which appalled Petunia.

By the time the sun had gone down, she'd been there two hours and half of the bottle was gone. Well, near that anyway. She could not quite tell.

Everything was dancing. There were fireflies. She found herself spinning, round and round, like she had done when she was small. Petunia should have been there. She should have twirled with her. But Petunia had turned into a stuck-up snob.

Lily had no obligation to want for stuck up snobs.

"Are you _drunk?!_ "

His voice came from the shrubbery. God, why was he always hiding back there?! Why was he always around — there behind every bloody corner...?

Sev — no, Snape — scowled at her. Those dark eyes glinted and his pallid face was sunken and waxy. She might have pitied him, a while ago. She might even have forgiven him. But Lily was long past that stage now. There was no going back from what he has said.

"You can't take back words, Snape," she said, leaning against the swing frame.

Severus stepped closer. He was being cautious. For whatever reason, this amused her. Other than that there was a sort of detached indifference about her. She was not exactly angry, and not completely upset. More... Not even there at all.

"What are you talking about?" He asked, slowly. And then, "Lily, give me the bottle."

She shook her head, taking another sip and then cradling it close to her chest. "You called me a 'Mudblood,'" she told him. Snape flinched. "Oh, that's right, you _apologised_ for it. You feel _sorry_. Well, I don't. I think you can burn in hell with all of the rest of your Death Eater mates."

Even _she_ cringed. Snape had tears in his eyes. "You know I never meant—"

"Funny thing about things that you don't mean," Lily mock-mused. "They just sort of... Slip out, you know? Like an accident. But the fact is that they've been said. You at least thought them. It at least crossed your mind. The thought existed. It was there. You said it. _Mudblood_."

Snape's shoulders sank. "I would _never_ —"

"Oh, I believe _James Potter_ more than I believe you!" She said, rather loudly.

"So this is back to Potter, is it?" Snape's cheeks were flushed with pink. "God, how blind can you be?! He's using you!"

Lily actually laughed. "How so? Did he make me say that? Did he make you a prat?" She hummed. "No, I think you did that all on your own, Severus Snape."

"Give me the bottle."

"Fuck off."

She drank as she stumbled up the gravel paved road. Snape had been left behind in a flurry of fireflies, and here she was now before her house. And so, it would seem, was Marlene McKinnon. Her best friend was standing right before Lily's front door, staring at the gnats which flew around the porch light.

"Anything worth note?" Lily asked, not quite slurring her words.

"Shit! Lily!" Marlene jumped. "Uh... Yeah. Martha ate Bob, I think."

"Shame," Lily shrugged. "They were really cute together."

Marlene opened and closed her mouth for no less than five whole seconds. And then she was starting forward, wrapping Lily into an unreciprocated embrace. "A-About your mum, Lily..." She gripped the nape of her neck, "I'm sorry..."

This was Marlene trying her hardest. Lily shuddered when she realised how that might have been perceived as something cold-hearted, and yet... It was true, wasn't it? "Thanks," she said. "But I don't want to talk about it."

Marlene breathed out a sigh. Was she relieved? Well, case in point. "That's — That's alright. Whenever you're ready." _And preferably with Alice around_ , the blonde added mentally, unbeknownst to Lily.

Lily handed her the bottle of scotch. Marlene stared at it, looking bemusedly from the bottle to Lily. "Oh," she said. Gently, she extracted Lily's fingers from around the glass rim. "Come on. Let's get you inside."

* * *

James handed him the towel, and watched painstakingly as his best mate dried out his thoroughly wet hair. He had a tendency to mother, as he had been told, but Sirius did not seem to mind much, this time. James summoned the house elves — Bitzy and Rollow — to fetch food and tea. He made up Sirius's bed himself, and fretted over him like his own mum would have.

He had a feeling that if he ever looked back on the memory in a pensive, he would be completely embarrassed.

Again, Sirius did not mind. He smiled and sobbed alternatively at completely random intervals, arms curled around his torso, cheeks stained with tears and mud.

"I'm sorry, Padfoot," said James, for what felt like the hundredth time. If he was being honest, however, he was more than glad; Sirius had finally extracted himself from his parents, who were admittedly psychotic. This was a good thing. But Sirius had not come to that conclusion, yet. Perhaps he never would.

"Drink the tea," James ordered sharply, before Sirius could even speak.

Sirius obliged. James watched every sip almost neurotically. He wrung his hands and paced. "We'll take you in," he said, firmly. "Dad will make sure of it. He'll go up against every bloke in the Wizengamot if that's what it takes."

"Bloke and bird," Sirius rasped suddenly.

James blinked, unsure. And then he realised his mistake. He flushed with shame. "Right," he said. "Bloke and bird."

"My mother is a crazy bitch," Sirius said.

"So's your father," James pointed out. "You mustn't discriminate."

Padfoot laughed; eyes wide as he did so — he looked so unsure of his mirth that it died within seconds. "I... _Fuck_."

James stopped. "What?"

"I did it, Prongs," he said. "I mean... I've said a lot of things, and I've been rowing with them since my sorting, but... It's done. She blasted me off the bloody tree, James... Just - I mean..."

James sat down beside him. "I know," he said, for he did; Sirius had been complaining about his parents since they had met. From the very first time they'd met, he had proclaimed his entire family Slytherins with such distain. James had made some quip he could not quite remember...

Nonetheless, he wrapped an arm around Sirius's shoulders. "You have me, Padfoot," he said. "And right now that probably doesn't feel like enough, because you should have had so much more... But I'm always going to be here, yeah? No matter what."

Sirius nodded. For the briefest of seconds James thought he might have improved the mood of his fellow Marauder, but then Sirius broke down into a fit of heartbroken, gut-wrenching sobs. James held him patiently, frowning with concern.

"Did you know... T-that you're my best mate in the _whole world?_ "

James offered a half-smile. "I had figured, given I'm letting you cry on my shoulder and all."

Sirius sniffed. "I want to be a dog, now."

"Padfoot," James said, sternly now, "you know what that can do to a person. It's not safe to simplify your emotions by transforming into a lesser being—"

"If I wanted to hear something from a textbook, James, I would read one." He rolled his eyes. "God, you're like a walking stack of transfiguration notes."

"I am _not_!" James sputtered, indignant.

They might have bickered further, as they were wont to do, but the door opened following a sharp knock. There in the frame stood James's mother and father, who silently took in the sight of him comforting Sirius — who looked rather idiotic with a towel hanging off his head. Hastily James ripped it off.

"James," said his mother, brow furrowed, "why is Sirius here?"

Sirius raised an elegant eyebrow. "Do you not want me around, Mia?"

His mother stepped into the room, lacing her bony hands together and pursing her lips to hide her obvious amusement. "You know I love you, Sirius," she said fondly. "It's an expression of concern, sweetie."

Dad was just behind her. "James," he called, "a moment, please."

And so James rose obediently, following his father from the room and down the hall. He thought that they might talk in the library, but instead he was led into his father's private study — within which he had only been twice before; once when he was six, and the other at eleven — just before he had departed to Hogwarts for the first time.

James could recall the day with absolute vividness; the cool air, crisp sunlight spilling through the high, muntined windows. There were six bookshelves, all of which were so full that they overflowed. Stacks of volumes had been scattered throughout the room; grey, brown and yellow against soft maroon carpet.

Now was not so different, accounting for night against day. Father sat at his desk, and indicated that James should sit across from him. And so he did, uncertain but with that familiar confident facade. He leisurely crossed his legs and leaned back.

"Sirius is a friend of the family," said his father, after a moment of consideration. "In fact, I consider him such. He's like a son to me, James. I love him as deeply as I love you." With that, he paused. "But should he stay... that puts us in a risky position, you must understand."

"Oh, I do," James said flatly, "but you must excuse me for assuming that you would have considered my best mate worth the risk."

Father looked severely affronted. He sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wide, and then relaxed. "Oh, James," he said. "Of _course_ I do. You know that. Everyone knows that. But I worry for you at school. House Black has many vassals and members which could take offence to your association with Sirius. There will be hexing, beatings—"

"I don't submit to those sorts of things, you know that." His anger was real, now. Real and wild. There was a deadliness in his voice that he scarce recognised. "I am of Gryffindor, Father. And that means bravery. It means courage. It means not being so pathetic as to abandon my best friend because of a little _bullying_."

 _Besides; who bullies the bully?_

There was that shame, again. He buried it down, not wanting to feel it just then.

Father nodded. "I... Will do what I must. Assure Sirius that he is welcome to stay here as long as he likes, and beyond that."

James nodded curtly and rose. When he was gone, Charlus Potter leaned back in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose, contemplating his options. This meant business. Political business which might sabotage the progress he had made with the Order. Housing a Black? The Light families were not going to like that.

No, they would not like that one bit.

"Fuck them all," Charlus said firmly.

* * *

Alice was buried under the covers, clutching at the white satin pillowcase with her small, pale hands. She was beautiful; quiet in sleep, and calm. Yet when she was awake she was a force to be reckoned with. Wild and wilful and brave. For all of her insecurities, Frank thought she was perfect.

Quietly he sat down beside her, brushing her hair away from her eyes. It was a rusty, almost burnt copper colour. He loved it. He loved how it curled at the ends and changed tint with the seasons. He loved her eyes — closed, now, but brown when they were open. A vivid, mesmerising brown.

Frank leaned down and kissed her forehead. She was very wonderful, and very perfect, and yet she could not see it. He hadn't ever expected her to; what with the family she had grown up with, and her... Mental state of mind. And so Frank reminded her, every time he saw her.

And when she had come not two hours before in a rush of green fire, with silver tears streaming down her cheeks. She was so obviously broken. Covered in blood which had made Frank's heart race in fear.

He'd risen from the table in less than a heartbeat and taken her into his arms. She'd sobbed, and he'd let her. His mother had locked up the Floo (having used those unnatural Danger Detection senses of hers) and Frank had taken his girlfriend deeper into the manor, where she might feel more secure.

And then she'd told him, and they'd cried together.

"I know you're watching me," she croaked, suddenly alert. Frank suppressed a start. He was still leaning over her. Gently he pressed his nose against her own, playfully, which made her giggle. "Thank you for letting me stay."

"Anytime, love," he said softly, wrapping a strand of her hair (lemon shampoo) around his finger. "Are you... Are you going to be alright?"

Alice sat up. He leaned back so that she could right herself. In this new light he noticed the bags under her eyes, and the redness to them. Frank felt awful for her. She stared down at her wrists. There were fresh pink scars there. Two of them. Suddenly she was crying again.

Frank adjusted so that he could hold her, enveloping her from behind. "Hey," he whispered, gently as he could. "It's okay. I'm here, love."

"I know," she whimpered, digging her nails into her fists. "I know... But you shouldn't h-have to be... I'm an awful girlfriend... I'm such a _stupid burden._ "

His heart broke. Right then and right there, it broke, because here was his perfect girl, calling herself unworthy. Calling herself the exact opposite of what she was. If anything, it was Frank who was out of his league here.

But more importantly, his heart was broken. Frank quickly and surely hugged her tight. "Don't say that," he told her, "don't you ever say that, do you hear me? I love you, Alice. I love you so, _so_ much."

She gasped, tears halting. "You... You do?"

"Have I never said that?" He was truly curious.

Alice turned to him. "No." She sniffed. Frank wiped away her tears. And then he kissed them away. "Frank..." Salt, he tasted, and the minerals of cheap mascara. "Frank..."

He kissed her mouth (strawberries). "I love you, Ally," he said. "More than I've ever loved anything."

Her lower lip quavered. "W-why?"

"Oh, God," he hugged her tighter, not exasperated but daunted, because there were so many reasons to list. His face was buried in the crook of her neck. "You're sweet," he began. A kiss. "And insane." Another kiss. "And brilliant." Kiss. "And _I love you_ , Alice Melifula."

"Oh, Frank," she sniffed, cupping his cheeks which made them burn. "I love you, too."

"Good." He grinned. Their lips met again. This kiss was slow and firm, full of longing. The seal of a promise. She tasted of peppermint and smelled of lemons, and Frank was in love. "Did you know that I love you?"

She laughed. "Did you know that you're a hopeless romantic?"

"Did you know that you're beautiful?"

"Did you know that you're handsome?"

They went back and forth like this between kisses, as they had been doing since fourth year when they'd started going out. Frank recalled the first time he had seen her; a spindly, big-eyed thing standing by the Hogwarts Express with her parents beside her. Both of them had been frowning, but in her gaze — adoringly set upon the steam engine — he had seen such hope. He'd been in love then, too, but he hadn't known it just yet.

Alice Melifula had bemused him at first. She was at the top of their year in every class, though he had never seen her study. She always smiled when she saw him, but everyone else had treated him like the scrawny git he'd been; hexing him, sending tripping jinxes...

The first time they'd properly talked, however, had been fourth year. He'd caught her in an unused classroom holding a small knife to her wrist. She'd been crying for the wound she had not yet inflicted upon herself, and so Frank had made sure it never happened.

He had not understood, then, nor could he understand it now, how a person like her could hate herself so much.

He couldn't even find a thing to hate.

Alice sighed against his collarbone. Soon enough his shirt had been pulled over his head and discarded like the pointless thing it was. Frank shuddered at the sudden coldness of the air. "Warming charm, do you think?"

"We'll end up all sweaty," Alice countered, shaking her head.

"Oh, and what a shame that would be," Frank said with a rueful grin.

Alice laughed. She laid down on the bed and pulled him on top of her, as so that was that.

* * *

She lay on her bed — no, her mother's bed — and sighed against the cool sheets. Her head was throbbing. Lily scowled, pressing her palms to her temples. God, what time was it? The sun was high in the sky, she assessed.

"You're up at last," said a dry voice.

Lily sat up sluggishly, groaning. Marlene (at this point she didn't even bother to question why her best friend was in the room) stood at the foot of the bed, holding two cups of tea. "You better have used loose leaf, and not that bagged shit."

Marlene grinned. "I know you too well," she commented, setting the cup on Lily's — her mother's — nightstand.

Lily sniffed and took a sip. She decided it met her standards and downed the rest over a period of no less than five minutes. "So... I drank...?"

"Scotch," Marlene confirmed, "and a lot of it."

Lily groaned. "How... How long have I been asleep?"

Marlene shrugged. "I'm not exactly sure," she said. "Your Dad still hasn't woken up yet, but—"

"Wait," Lily was instantly on her feet, stumbling from the sudden head rush she received. "Oh, _fuck_..." She felt nauseous, and clammy, and gross. "What... What time is it, Mar?"

"Noon, I reckon."

Lily hauled herself into the bathroom and spilled her stomach contents into the toilet. Then, quickly wiping her mouth, she stumbled into the hall. Marlene was just behind her. "What are you doing? Lily?"

" _Shhh!_ "

"Lily—"

"Shut your bloody gob, Marlene, before you make me puke on you!" She whipped around to send a reprimanding glare at her best friend, which unfortunately made her head spin again. She took a moment to steady herself, resting against the mint-coloured wall.

She felt really, very crap.

After she was finally balanced, Lily quietly and slowly made her way into her dad's room. The walls were pale pink and covered in pictures of flowers. It did not suit the thin man laying on the bed, his tweed jacket laying across the footboard.

"Dad," Lily shook him. "Dad, wake up."

He did. A sharp gasp later and his green eyes were matching her own. "W-What... What time—?"

"Noon," Lily said. "And Aunt June was expecting you at half passed ten. She'll be worried."

Dad nodded. She stepped out once satisfied that he was awake and moving, meeting Marlene in the hall. "My mum is dead," she said.

"Yeah," said Marlene.

Lily bit down on her lip. "Come on," she said tremulously. "We should go to Mary's."

* * *

They met in his office, wands tucked away and hands clasped momentarily in a sign of peace. The palace was dark; shutters bound and curtains closed tightly. And yet the air was crisp — utterly clear. Arcturus unbuttoned his straight jacket and sat.

Charlus did the same.

"How have you been?"

"Well," replied Black, with a slight dip in his head. "And you?"

"As well as can be expected, given the events of last night."

Black hummed. "It would seem my heir has run himself amok." He smiled almost fondly, eyes distant.

Charlus frowned. "Your heir?" He leaned forward. "I was under the impression that he had been removed from the family."

Arcturus smirked in a way that was so similar to Sirius it was startling. "Blasting a name off of a tapestry does not remove the blood from his veins, Charlus," he said, chuckling. "He is a Black, and as long as I live he shall remain my heir."

"And how long will that be?"

"Watch yourself, Charlus," warned the other.

Charlus sighed. "And Alphard? Will he still provide the boy with the funds?"

"Yes. He has agreed."

"And Walburga? Orion?"

"My son remains as weak today as he was when he was born. The man has no spine." Idly Arcturus stirred his tea with a thin, long spoon. "He did nothing to prevent the deformity inflicted upon the family tapestry, nor has he ever. More over, he reports that he merely sat in his sitting room whilst my good-daughter tortured my heir."

Charlus's blood ran cold. " _Tortured_?" He inquired. "As in—?"

"The Unforgivable, yes." Arcturus sighed. "A grave business..."

"'Grave business'?!" Charlus shot from his chair. "Hell's fire, Black! She used an Unforgivable on him! On an innocent child! Who... Who in their _right mind.._.?"

"Mmm... You make the obvious point," Arcturus hummed, "her sanity is indeed questionable, my friend. What with all of the inbreeding. Did you know that Walburga and Orion are first cousins? It is a wonder my grandchildren turned out without third eyes, I swear." He sipped.

"You sit there," Charlus began, nearing on thundering, "as though nothing is wrong. You act as though your heir has not been thrown out on his arse—"

"The better for it!" Arcturus rose calmly, though his grey eyes had turned utterly steely. "If he had stayed in that house a moment longer, he would have been killed or worse! Who knows what sick concoctions my good-daughter might have cooked up?! She could have Imperiused the boy into joining the Dark Lord, and where would we be then?"

Charlus sighed, running a hand through his close-cropped grey hair. "God, these children are going to be the death of me."

"Oh, Charlus, I've known that for _ages_." He shook his head. "It is good that you have come to terms with reality."

* * *

 **AN: Alright, I lied. I'm posting this today. Why? Because I felt like it. I finished this chapter, and I figured people are more likely to read a story with 2 chapters than just the one. So, here you go!**

 **Please, review if you like it and want me to continue!**


	3. The Searchers

_Three: Needles And Pins_

 _(non: patience)_

She was red from head to toe. Red hair, pulled back into a half up-do, with little white flowers weaved into her locks. Red cheeks, flushed from the cold, along with the tip of her nose. A red book in her hands, clutched tightly in her gloved hands. And, of course, red shoes.

It might have looked rather stupid to anyone else — anyone that did not understand her. But James did. It had taken a while, yes; many months of fighting and trying and failing. It ended with a kiss, and it started with a hex, but that's unimportant.

What matters is James, here now looking at her as she sat with swinging feet on the wall, nose in a book.

Lily defied expectations. She grated against propriety like a rock wedged between two cliff faces; eroding slowly over time until it just gave away. She was a flurry of unexpected emotions and thoughts. Just when you thought you knew something about her, the exact opposite turned out to be true.

At least, that was what he had narrowed it down to.

It was a difficult process; getting to know a person that you were already in love with. Everything was a contradiction or a question that either did not make sense, or required rephrasing. Lily was the opposite of simple.

He approached her, hands tucked into his pockets. She did not look up for she was far too immersed, and so he waited with a sort of lopsided, careless smirk on his face. He loved that he could do this; just look at her, without having to worry about consequences. It was peaceful. Freeing.

"Is there something you need?" Her tone was dry and yet he could tell, despite being unable to see her expression, that she was smiling.

"Should I respond with the usual pick-up line, or an honest answer?" James leaned against the wall.

He could see her roll her eyes, then. It was like watching a whole forest spin; emerald leaves shaking in the wind, spun upside down and back again. Absolutely mesmerising. "You know how I feel about honesty," she practically sang.

James hummed. "I need a kiss," he said, rather bluntly. But, it was what he honestly wanted in that moment. More than anything else in the world.

Lily slowly closed her book. "Well, get it over with, then," she said. James grinned. He stood before her, slightly above her, actually (it was a rather short wall, after all). Lily wrapped her arms around his neck, and then it was bliss.

He could not exactly describe what it was like to kiss her, because all of the blood seemed to leave his braid every time his lips met hers. He could scarce remember each one. There had been plenty, but still he could not quite pinpoint...

And now his mind was blank. It felt oddly like floating. He held her right against his torso, the other hand woven into her soft, wavy red hair.

He was on the ground again when she pulled away. "Anything else?"

James made a slightly odd sound; something between a groan and a sigh. She threw back her head and laughed, which gave him the perfect opportunity to bury his face in her neck. Her perfume smelt of vanilla and cherries.

"James," she scolded, amused. Her fingers raked though his hair. "Do you want another kiss?"

"Yes, please."

 _No, I don't think I can breathe when you're not breathing. And no, I don't think I can live when you're not living. And no, I don't want to be anything when you're not... When you're not with me. And it was pretty stupid of me to take this long to realise something so obvious..._

Yes, kissing Lily was wonderful.

Too bad he wouldn't be kissing her at all for a very, very long time.

* * *

"You're different," observed Mary, folding up a very gorgeous bright blue top. There was a lollipop hanging from her lips and her hair — a deep chocolate brown, it was — had been hastily pinned up (probably that morning, in a pathetic attempt to look put together so that her friends would not think less of her).

The corners of Lily's pink lips dipped downward into a petulant sort of frown. "How do you mean?"

"I mean, I dunno... It's just your aura, Lily." Mary grabbed a skirt. "It's so very dour."

"Well, my mum is dead," Lily pointed out, feeling rather defensive on the rare subject of her aura. "Doesn't that call for some sort of dip in — oh, God, what's my normally perceived aura?!"

Mary shook her head. She crossed the space between the cupboard and the bed, sitting down beside Lily and taking her hands in her own. "Oh, I know that, Lils," she said, "God, it must be so awful..." Her grip tightened ever-so-slightly. "I just mean... I'm worried for you." Lily frowned again. Mary's eyes widened. "Not that you don't have any right to be upset! God, you have every right in the entire world! The point I'm trying to make — shottily, I reckon — is... Would your mum want you to be so...?"

"Sad? That I'll never see her again?" Lily shook her head, ripping her grip away. Under normal circumstances she might have remembered that Mary had always been awful at talking and trying to help people. She might have remembered that Mary was overly sensitive. She might have remembered that Mary was only trying to help.

"Lily, I didn't mean it like that!" Mary's eyes were soon filled with tears. "Please, I... Please don't be mad?! I was only worried, I promise!"

"It's only been a _week_ ," Lily snapped back, harshly. _Am I just going to lose everyone I care about?_

Mary blushed. "I'm sorry," she whispered, wiping her eyes. "I shouldn't have pried—"

Further conversation was cut off as the door snapped open. Marlene slipped in with three glasses of pumpkin juice, and a tray of biscuits. She hummed obliviously, before pausing. "God, there's a tense aura in here."

Mary sobbed. "Oh, _shut up,_ Marlene!"

Huffing, Marlene slammed the tea-tray down onto the dresser. "What's got _your_ wand in a knot?"

"I shouldn't even be here," said Lily. "I should be at home, with my dad... Wallowing..."

Marlene pushed her back down against the headboard. "Your dad is with your aunt, remember? Which, if you were home, would leave you all alone. It's better if you're with us. At least you're around people, yeah?"

Lily sighed. She hated that Marlene was right. But she was always right; Marlene had a sort of confident way about her which made even the stupidest things sound intelligent. She could convince any bloke to do anything she liked, a fact which she had exploited many times in their dormitory. "Please, just..."

"Do you want chocolate?" Offered Mary, in an obvious gesture of plantation. "Or tea, perhaps? I can get both — o-or neither...?"

"What I want," said Lily sharply, "is to be left alone." She looked between them with a mastered, practised deadly stare. "I don't want to be mothered by my own…" And then the air in her lungs was gone. _Mothered. Mother_. Her vision blurred, and so she ducked her head to mask her shame.

"Lily—?" Mary stepped forward, hesitantly.

Lily bit down on her knuckles, not _wanting_ to, not _needing_ to... The cry broke though anyway, of course, and then she was sobbing hysterically into her arms, curled up into a tight ball. She tugged at her own hair, hating herself, because it was not fair. It was _not fair..._

It was Mary that held her. Lily let her, for she did not have the strength to push her away. "Oh, sweetie," Mary whispered, stroking back her hair. "I'm so sorry."

"Please," Lily gasped, face hot, "just leave m-me alone..."

"Okay," Mary nodded. She grabbed Marlene by the wrist and pulled her out, leaving Lily all alone.

So, so very alone, she was. It hurt. It hurt because truly she did not have anyone at all. Her Dad loved her, no doubt, but he did not _know_ her. He did not _trust_ her. And Sev... She had lost him as well. And Petunia. And her mum, now. And naturally she was pushing away her friends... Because obviously she was going to lose them, as well.

It felt, often, as though everything she had known for her short life was a mere lie. There was nothing to disprove this. No person. No words. All that she knew to be true was her magic, but even that was being tested. With every day that passed, more people seemed to look down upon her. More and more were rising up against her kind — against _Mudbloods_.

People like Severus. And Mulciber. Avery. Malfoy...

Probably it had been one of those _Ancient and so-called Noble_ houses which had done her mum in. They'd found her lying under a street lamp at four in the morning, eyes blown wide open as she stared upward. Her fists had been clenched, tightly — crescent moons dug into her palms, most likely — and she had been in her nightclothes.

She'd seen something, they said, and died of shock.

But that was a lie. A filthy, awful lie. _They'd_ killed her. Those pureblood hierarchy bastards.

And then there was purpose.

It is funny how thoughts lead to sudden revelations, simple as the might have been before; distorted previously by the haze of grief, and yet out of nowhere, there they are. And this particular revelation jolted Lily out of her utter devastation. It shined some light of hope on the mantle of misery she had been living under.

 _I need to fight. I need to fight for muggleborns._

She didn't know it yet, but the answer to this particular purpose would come relatively soon.

* * *

Pages were turned slowly, read agonisingly closely. James's eyes had drifted over the same paragraph at least seven times. His mind had drifted to far off places; Guam, perhaps... Or was it Italy?

"Prongs," a voice was saying. Something sharp clicked before his un-focused vision. " _Prongs!_ "

James blinked. There was Sirius, of course, leaning against the table. He was frowning. "Mmm?"

"Are you alright, mate?"

"Mmm."

"Tired?"

"Mmm."

"Sleepy?"

"Mmm."

"Exhausted?"

"Mhm..."

Sirius sighed. He slammed his book shut. James jumped. "What the hell?!"

"You need to sleep," Sirius said.

"No," James said, forcefully. He glared down at the book. "What I _need_ is to figure out internal, permanent transifgurement... Nonverbally. And wandless." There was the mental incantation, along with many diagrams, examples, complex formulas and proofs, all there in this rare text which his father, for whatever reason, owned. Then again, his Father _did_ own a lot of useless things.

"That can wait." Sirius folded his arms across his chest. "Moony and Wormy are coming round in an hour. You haven't showered, you haven't eaten, and you look like shite."

James dragged his hands through his hair. "I have to do this," he said, more to himself than Sirius. "If I don't, none of us will be able to properly distinguish between our animagus forms and our human forms. _And_ we'll keep having to wait on Remus to change us back every time. Aren't you getting a little tired of watching him sleep after a full moon?"

Sirius sniffed rather haughtily. "Perhaps," he said.

James studied the words for a moment longer, uncomprehending. " _Damn it!_ "

Sirius gently extracted his fingers from the book and closed it. "You should go... Better yourself, or whatever."

James rose, a small smirk playing across his lips. "Far out."

"Please, dear God, _don't_."

-·-

The wood had been newly polished, James observed as he ascended the stairwell. All of the scuff marks that James had worked so hard to make had disappeared. He pushed his hair out of his eyes, feeling slumped and worn. His eyes were so dry they stung.

"He cannot know, Charlus," said a voice — the urgent, hushed voice of his mother. James halted right then and there, determined not to make another sound.

"I am not saying we should tell him now," came his father's voice. "I am saying he _deserves_ to know. It is his right. And, he being my heir and I his father, it is my decision to make—"

"Excuse me?!" His mother was now incensed. "I am his mother, for one thing, Charlus. Another being that my rights as a woman and a witch have elevated since the time we married, dear man, so hear me now," she took in a deep breath, "we will make this decision _together_. Equally. And while I live, he is not to be made aware until he is of age."

Charlus sighed. "He has excellent marks," father said. "He is top of his class—"

"Behind a girl, might I remind you," said his mum, hotly.

"Even so," Charlus said, "he can fight. You and I both know it. And, what with Hector starting up the dueling club..."

"He hasn't even started sixth year, yet!"

"There is a war on, Mia!"

They had both come to a standstill, it seemed. For minutes there was silence. James waited, but nothing more came. Slowly he ascended the last steps, only to see his mother quietly crying in his father's arms.

James backed away. He did not know what to do.

* * *

Alice stared at her reflection, frowning. She held her wand in one hand, fully prepared to use it when the time came. When she worked up her courage.

Should she truly do this? Was it the right move to make?

Yes, she decided. It was time for a change.

And with that, the first locks of her hair fell. Down to the floor they practically drifted. Wisps of brown against pale white tiles. She worked at the rest, going from the front to back. She kept her bangs — but adjusted them so that they fell to the side in thin strands.

By the time she was done, she still could not decide whether she was horrified or overjoyed.

She cleaned up the mess and slipped out of the loo, expecting her bedroom to be empty, and fully prepared to nap until dinner time. Except, naturally, it was not. Frank leaned against the bed, fumbling with a small box.

When he saw her, his eyes widened. She had never once seen them so big. Flushed with both shame and fear, Alice fingered her locks. "I-it's not so bad, is it? I just wanted... I thought a change was due, and..."

Frank wrapped his arms around her. "It looks wonderful," he said consolingly. "I was just a bit started, is all."

She sank against him, relieved. "I... I thought you were going to be out all day?"

He nodded once they had pulled back. "I will be," he said, "but I stopped at this little place in Wiltshire, and got you something. It's a bit stupid, but I thought of you, and—"

She shut him up with a kiss. They both grinned. "It's brilliant," she said. "Thank you, Frank."

It was a pack of gum.

And not just any pack of gum, but Drooble's Limited Flavour; Golden Strawberries. Her favourite. Alice popped a strip in her mouth, savouring the flavour. "So, where exactly were you going? If it's not... Presumptuous of me for asking."

"'Course not," Frank grinned, "I mean to have a second wand made. One undetectable by the Trace, which will allow you to practice here, in the manor, all summer."

Alice furrowed her brow. "But I thought the Trace detected magic cast by the inner core? Like, anything you do, it's logged, or whatever?"

"Technically, yes," Frank nodded, "but wands are tracked. Did you know that? I'm thinking of having mum form some sort of legislation against it if she can gather the support — absolute invasion of privacy — but anyway, if they don't know you're using a wand, then they classify it as accidental magic, which doesn't count. I can do magic here because I'm a Longbottom of Longbottom, and under accordance of the contract agreement we've made with the Ministry, anyone with my blood or name can practise magic here. Since you don't have either, I came up with my solution."

"Brilliant," Alice grinned. "But, there is another solution."

Frank blinked. "There is? I mean, of course there is, isn't there? You've always been the smart one, Al—"

"We could get married."

Her words were met with initial silence. Alice's heart quivered. She wondered if she had overstepped her bounds; been too forward too fast...

Frank blushed. He rubbed the back of his neck and averted his eyes, mumbling incoherently. Alice grabbed at his hands, holding them. "Frank," she said, trying to calm him. "Frank, it's alright, I was only joking—"

"No," he said. Her heart sank. "I mean — that's not what I meant. I meant yes to the marriage, no to the joking, because spending my life with you isn't exactly what I'd call a joke, and—"

He could no longer speak, for she was kissing him. Within she felt only elation. Absolute and pure bliss. They were both blushing when she pulled away. "We can't get married yet," she found herself saying.

"Well, no," Frank stared down at their intertwined fingers. "It was a bit of a stupid idea, I mean, I'd have to get your dad's permission, and we're not even of age."

"But if anyone asks, we're engaged."

He grinned a very white, perfect grin. "That's kind of brilliant."

Alice threw her arms around him, struck with a second wind of jubilation. "We're getting married!" She squawked. " _I'm so happy!_ "

Frank laughed. She loved his laugh.

It was a shame their joy wouldn't last.

* * *

They had been practising for hours in the large clearing behind Mary's house. Her parents, farmers they were, owned acres of land which went unnoticed by other muggles — thanks to a few handy charms Mary had gotten permission to cast last summer.

Marlene was aching. Her head throbbed and her muscles were all sore, but she was ready. No one would be able to touch her this time. Still there was a certain doubt; a shame of having lost to Tiberius Jones the year before — by the smallest, most infinitesimal margin. She was still sore from that, and determined not to lose this time. Or ever again, for that matter.

She touched down in the grass, that feeling of jubilation leaving her completely as soon as she was no longer up in the air. Marlene missed it already. Mary landed next to her and dismounted her shitty broom, wiping the sweat off of her forehead.

"What do you reckon the score was, Lily?"

Lily, whom was seated on a rock reading a muggle text, looked up at them lazily. She really did look shite; there were dark purple bags under her eyes and her hair hadn't even been brushed yet — but there was a certain gleam to her eyes, now. They were less clouded.

"This is pointless," called their mate, resting her chin in her hand and going back to her novel.

Mary scrunched up her nose. "But _what was the score?_ "

"Six to nine," Lily said. "Now leave me—"

But then there was a scream. A high-pitched, girlish scream from behind the line of trees which secluded Mary's house from the rest of the farm. Marlene's head whipped around. Already her wand had been unsheathed from its holster on her arm.

"What was that?" Lily demanded.

Marlene was already a step ahead. "Mary, does anyone live near here? At all?"

Mary shook her head, black bob whipping around. "I can't think of who it could be."

Another scream. The source no longer eluded her, and so Marlene took off. She tore across the clearing, tall grass cutting into her cheeks. She paid it no mind and kept on. Soon she was surrounded by the green overgrowth. Her feet were silent over the moss — silence only broken by the snapping of twigs and the calling of Lily and Mary, who were farther behind but gaining.

There she was. A small thing, like a twig. She was dressed in a thin white nightgown, with her hair — which was golden — spread around her in a halo. She could be no older than nine.

Marlene rushed to her, scooping up the crying girl into her arms and attempting to console her. "Shh," she whispered. "Hey, where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere," the girl sobbed. "Please... H-help..."

Marlene did not know what to do; she could find no wounds, or bruises of any kind. "Who did this to you? Who are you?"

"I can't..."

"I need you to tell me, sweetie," Marlene said. "You've got to—"

"I CAN'T SAY!" The little girl ripped herself away; out of Marlene's grasp and into the trunk of an elm tree. "LEAVE ME ALONE! HE'LL MURDER YOU, TOO!"

Marlene, startled, shot to her feet. Lily and Mary had found them, by that time. The three of them stared dumbfounded at the little girl. "You need to tell us how you got here, at least," Marlene said. "I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong."

She stared at them all with very round, red-rimmed eyes. "M-my name is Pandora," she whispered, as though it were some how a betrayal. "They killed my whole family... You have to help me. You _have_ to."

* * *

 **AN: Chapter three - dedicated to the one person who's bothered to favorite so far. You know who you are, and I love you, by the way. And to everyone else; I am not, in fact, bitter. I love you guys - literally anyone who's read this. Thank you.**

 **So, that's that. A little shorter than most, and pretty much a filler. But next chapter... *cackles evily* Oooooh, it's going to be A LOT of fun.**


	4. The Kinks

_Four: You Really Got Me_

 _(non: intrusion)_

Pandora Blackwood was shaking as Lily pressed the cool, damp cloth to her forehead. Her eyes were as skittish as she herself seemed to be; flitting from one corner of the room to the other — and one person to the next.

Lily knew what had happened to this girl. Given the information she had already been provided with (Pandora's family had been killed; her attacker was a 'he'), she could only conclude that the girl had been privy to some Death Eater skirmish — or worse.

And with that assumption came the relatively clear epiphany that this little girl — willowy and small as she was — had been victim to the Cruciatus Curse.

It was with that knowledge — obvious to her, but perhaps not the others — which had fuelled Lily's Fire. She'd set to work at once, determined to right this wrong. Determined to help where she would in what little way this might be seen, in the grand scheme of things.

"Just stay still," she found herself saying, in a tone of voice she had not known she was capable of. It was not like Marlene's, which was urgent and hushed and nearing on frightful; or Mary's, whose tremulous tones and quivering lips has unnerved Pandora even more.

Lily had always been level headed in grievous situations. Like the day she'd found out she was a witch, or the day her mother had died. Sure, she'd been a wreck since, but...

"What if they find me?" Pandora was asking. "I-I broke one of their necks. I think they might—"

"Wait," Marlene stepped forward, frowning, "you did _what_ , exactly?"

Pandora blinked with her large doe's eyes. "Snapped his neck. Carrow, his name was. He might have been the leader of their group, but I dunno..." She sniffed. "I did it with magic."

Marlene snorted. "Well, that's sort of a given."

Lily shot her a warning look. "This is _not_ the time," she said sharply, watching Marlene blush. Softer, now, she said to Pandora, "I need you to tell me everything you remember, alright? About your mum and dad, and whoever else was with you when this happened. Can you do that for me?"

Pandora bit down into her peachy lips. "I think so," she whispered, through silver tears.

"Right," Lily nodded. She turned to her friends. "Mary, Marlene, could you please leave us?"

Marlene opened her mouth to protest, cheeks stained with streaks of pink, but one last glower from Lily had her cowing and yanking Mary out.

It was just them, then. Lily took Pandora's hand and sat beside her, instead of in front of her. "Whenever you're ready, love," she said.

And so Pandora spoke.

* * *

 _(Dorset; two days prior)_

It began at sunset.

In the house on the corner of a Dorset avenue, Pandora Blackwood played her fingers over the piano. Delicate and soft, the melody brought tears to her eyes. She loved it so, as did her mother, who currently sat not ten feet away working on her stitches.

And then there was the crack.

Pandora played over it, far too transfixed by the symphony to properly hear. But soon the metronome had been stopped. Her mother stood above her, face pale. "Dora," she whispered. "Get in the cellar."

Pandora had never heard her mother speak so urgently. Fear burrowed itself in her heart and she sat frozen.

" _Pandora!_ "

And then the door was gone.

There in the doorway stood a man. He looked positively brutish — clad in a black set of wizard's robes with a mask over his face. Frightened, Pandora glanced up at her mother. "EDWARD!" Mother screamed.

Pandora did not understand. She waited for her father to come down, for surely he would. Father always came to the rescue; like when she'd been small (well, smaller than she was now) and she'd teleported to the top of that ledge and nearly died...

"ED! THEY'RE HERE!"

There was no sound from above.

The black-cloaked man stepped over the threshold. He was holding a wand, Pandora realised. "Wonderful place you have here, Mrs. Blackwood," he growled.

Behind him were two other cloaked figures. Both were lean and dark, shifting in and out of focus like avoidant shadows. One was a woman. "Shame it'll be destroyed," she said, sounding quite pleased with the prospect.

Pandora opened her mouth to speak — to protest to this nonsense — but then many things happened at once.

The first thing was the most outlandish. Her father (her very brave, kind father) was marched down the stairwell with his hands tied behind his back, at the wand-point of another stocky wizard. His face was bruised at the eye and jaw.

The second was the first wizard, lunging forward to grab her mother.

Pandora shot up off of the piano bench and _screamed_.

Everything in the room began to shake; the chandelier, the mounted China plates, the furniture. The walls themselves darkened as true shadows spread across them; Death's creeping soldiers. Her mother cried out and was thrown to her knees. Her father was struck with a spell and knocked unconscious. All four wands trained on her.

And then the world was spinning. Well and truly spinning; round and round in hasty circles. The ground was swept up from beneath the Death Eaters' feet. They fell, casting hexes and curses straight at her. All of them somehow missed.

And Pandora stood in the midst of it all. She felt oddly calm within; everything around her was as turbulent as a storm and yet here she was. A calm sea. A quiet wood.

" _STOP IT!_ " Her mother screamed.

Pandora did. Almost bemused and plenty startled, she frowned at her mother as the Death Eaters grovelled on the floor around them. "Why? I was _saving_ you."

"No," said her mother. "No, Pandora, you were—"

" _Imperio!_ "

The nearest Death Eater (who was also the first) had risen to his feet. And yet the curse he had cast had not been directed at Pandora's mother, but Pandora herself.

Suddenly she was floating, feeling more light than she ever had. Pandora surveyed the scene before her, shrugged, and went back to playing the piano. It was such a beautiful tune... Soon she was so engrossed in the music that she could not hear the tortured screams of her dying family.

She kept playing. Flawlessly. There were no mistakes, this time. Her fingers danced over the ivory keys in a smooth, seasoned way. The black-robed witch was laughing. Pandora paid it no mind. She kept playing, even when the blood splattered across her face. She kept playing, even when the Death Eaters beat her father into a blood pulp right behind her whilst her mother was forced to watch.

And then she stopped playing. Silence filled the room. Pandora rose, over no will of her own, and turned to see the carnage she could not even recognise (if she had, she would have screamed. She would have cried, as any sane person would have; for there was red over those pale blue walls her mother so loved, and there was a mass of blood and muscle and bone in the middle of the floor, and there was the body of her mother with her throat slit in a wide, crude gash not six feet away).

"Let's play, pretty," said the witch. She danced closer, holding her wand like a composer would his baton. Her mask was gone, replaced with a pale, delicate face and a slash for a smile. Her hair was dark and curled. Her eyes were black. "Oo, you are a pretty one, aren't you?" She wrapped her arm around Pandora's collarbone and placed the tip of her wand against the crook of her neck. Pandora paid this no mind. "Mmm... I imagine Dolphie might like a taste... Or Greyback. What say you, Pretty? Mm? Shall we play a little game?"

Pandora did not speak.

"What've you done to 'er, then, Avery? Imperius?"

Avery grinned. He stepped over the remains of Pandora's father and stuck her plain across the cheek. Pandora's head whipped. She could not properly register the pain, but some dim part of her mind was aware that it existed.

"Funny, ain't it, how they're just... Dead-like," commented Avery. "Do you reckon she'd scream if I—"

"Now, now, Avery, we mustn't spoil our dinner," said a floating voice. The third Death Eater. This one was tall and limber, with pale white hair and deadly grey eyes.

Pandora did not speak.

"Bet she doesn't taste good," said the witch.

Pandora did not speak.

"Powerful one," commented the fourth. "Way she spun the room..."

Pandora did not speak. She stared at the lifeless blue eyes of her mother. And then, once more, _Pandora screamed._

But this scream was like no other; it was so high-pitched that the Death Eater's did not even register it. When their ears began to bleed, they glanced around in confusion. Glass shattered, flew through the air, and gouged out their eyes.

The man who had murdered her father died right then and there. His neck snapped.

The man by the door crumpled into a heap. His heart stopped.

The witch behind Pandora stopped breathing. Her lungs had collapsed.

Pandora looked at the last Death Eater. The one who had killed her mother. "Run," she said, simply.

He did.

* * *

Lily paced the floor. "So... So you killed the one and the others ran?"

The girl on the bed nodded with unease earnest. "I reckon they were frightened," she said softly. "I didn't even say anything when I killed him..."

Lily bit her lower lip. "And this happened yesterday?"

Pandora nodded.

Lily felt hope spring up within her. "Well then we could go after them," she said, mainly to herself. "Catch them, turn them in..."

"No," said Pandora, much too hurriedly. "No, I can't—"

"Oh, I don't mean you," Lily clarified. She knelt beside Pandora. "I can handle this." She paused, considering. "Well, maybe not me, all on my own. I'll need help."

Pandora wrung her hands. "It... Can I stay here? I... I don't have anywhere else to go, and..."

Lily wrapped her arm around Pandora's shoulders, which made the younger girl flinch. Instantly Lily retracted her offered comfort, knowing how awful it could be to be touched when you could not handle the pressure of reciprocation, nor when you did not want to be touched at all. "I'm sorry," she said, for both her actions and what came next. "I can't speak for Mary's parents. They're nice people, though. I'm sure they'd let you stay—"

Suddenly Pandora was surveying the room. "They're muggles, aren't they?"

It was not truly a question. Lily found herself scowling. "Yes," she replied hotly. "And there's nothing wrong with that—"

Pandora's silver-grey eyes widened. "No," she said, in a rush. "No, that's not what I meant!" She brushed away a tear. "I... Muggles don't have the same enchantments on their homes that wizards do. I won't be safe."

Lily sighed. "Mary's set up certain charms," she said.

"That doesn't matter," Pandora said. "Just... I have to go to Diagon Alley. I have an aunt—"

"We can't just _go_ —"

Pandora shot to her feet. "Listen to me, Lily Marie Evans! I know you! I know who you are. I know what you're feeling, what you're thinking, and I know how to influence you. Don't make me."

Lily's blood ran cold, but she did not cower away. "You won't get anywhere by being short with me," she said firmly. "Now, I've already promised to help you. But you have to give us time."

"Noon," Pandora said.

Their gazes — equally steady and determined — met. Lily knew that Pandora was not going to budge, and given what Pandora had said, the girl knew likewise. A pure sort of loss formed a kinship in that moment.

"One-o-clock," Lily said.

"Fine."

* * *

Sirius let the water run over his face. He exhaled against the shower wall, cool porcelain against his forehead. He'd not had the luxury of a proper shower for... Never. He'd never had a long, relaxed wash. At home (and he would have to avoid the pronoun 'home' from now on, seeing as it was no longer the truth), every bath had been rushed and supervised by elves until he was nine. At Hogwarts, water amounts were measured and timed.

At Potter Manor, things were different. Sirius found he quite liked Potter Manor.

We washed his face and then slid out, soon drying off with a towel. There was a mirror across from him, which showed his reflection. And though he was still (admittedly) dashingly handsome, there were shadows under his eyes and a redness to them, and his skin... It'd never been so pale.

"Fucking potion-infested food," he hissed, pushing his hair away from his eyes.

Outside he could hear the sounds of Peter and Remus playing Exploding Snap, and James's soft snores as he napped (Sirius had never seen his best mate so absolutely knackered).

They were all occupied. Sirius bit his lip, and in that moment found himself thinking of Marlene. She really was a piece of work, that one. Probably more gorgeous than him. And fit, too. Pansy Ogden had called her a charver, but Sirius didn't buy it. Yeah, they'd got the end way, but that'd been after three whole fucking years of secret dates and pleads and...

He thought of her eyes. They were blue. A very certain type of blue. Not dark, like a coast. They were not warm eyes, hers. They were cold like winter and sharp like ice. Just like her. Everyone called Marlene cheap and cold. Everyone said she had no heart. But Sirius had seen her heart for himself. He'd seen what was behind that cool facade, and it was warmer and more pure than anything — than anyone.

It occurred to him that which he had not bothered to acknowledge for a very long time; Sirius Black was in love with Marlene McKinnon, and it... Hurt like hell.

Sirius dressed. Outside, Remus and Peter had put away the board. "Ready to go?"

"Ought to wake James," Sirius said.

Pete grabbed a nearby pillow and slapped it against James's face. James shot up, gasping, with his glasses askew. "Sod it!" He screamed. When he saw them all standing around him, quite gobsmaked, he blushed.

"I... Er — had a dream."

"Clearly," Sirius said dryly, tossing his wet towel into the laundry bin.

Remus leaned back on the floor, tucking his hands beneath his head. "I have a bad feeling," he said at length. "I don't like it."

"That's why the feeling is _bad_ , Moony," said Sirius in an offhand sort of way. He was not truly paying attention to Remus's words. If he had, he might have considered them. Remus had a way of sensing things before they happened. Perhaps it had something to do with his so-called 'furry-little-problem.'

But Sirius did not listen. And they all nearly got killed because of it.

* * *

Diagon Alley was not crowded today.

It was odd to see it in such a state, Regulus mused as he strolled leisurely down the cobblestone street. His boots clacked against them. There was no other sound. Normally the alley would be bustling with people — jam-packed with an air of sweat and hotness. And though it was most certainly hot today, the extra discomfort of many bodies had not been added to the mix.

Regulus did not whistle. He did not smile at the passerby. He kept his collar high so as to obscure his face, and used his hair to do the same. He felt sick. He felt exposed. He felt used and vulnerable. But he had never let that show — not once, since he had been six years old, had Regulus let his emotions truly take hold.

Well, with the exception of the night before last. But Sirius had deserved that much (and admittedly much more). He had earned every unshed tear. But Regulus had not told him that. It would soil all progress he had made on his Plan.

The Plan, of course, was not simple. It was an intricate web of delicate strings, all of which he controlled. The responsibility was something he had thrust upon himself, at the age of eleven. He had made this mess, and now it was his job to clean it up.

The mess, as it were, was not as horrible as an outside perspective might observe it to be. Yes, Sirius had been 'removed' from the family, but all charms of lineage and records of blood disproved his proclamation. And it was not as though Regulus had been approached by his grandfather to take up the mantle of heir, which meant he had other plans.

Regulus was not insulted. He had bigger fish to fry, as the muggles put it.

One fish in particular went by the name of Voldemort, though further extensive research had provided Regulus with a true name: Tom Marvolo Riddle. A fucking anagram. The whole thing was a bloody anagram created by a schoolboy. Odds are, he got bored in Charms class and made himself a 'menacing' name.

That had been when Regulus realised that Voldemort was nothing more than a fraud. A fraud, with a narrow mind, awful information on muggle-born facts, a natural talent for legilimacy (which was likely how he had persuaded so many people to his cause), and a French name — when he was not even of French descent.

Regulus was not afraid of Tom Riddle. Yes, perhaps he had been. And yes, perhaps all of his planning was tentative. But Regulus was growing bored. Which called for a bold move.

The Bold Move was, admittedly, slow going. For the last year he had been planting the seed in the Death Eater Trainee's minds; proving his worth and winding roots of attachment around their small brains.

Regulus Black was going to become a Death Eater.

And no, it was not because he _wanted_ to. Nor because he _had_ to. But because it was _necessary_. It was essential for the continuation of both wizard and muggle kind alike that he get that fucking Dark Mark, or the whole planet would most likely end up as piles of ash and bone.

It was a dreadful business. And though he had a tendency to be a bit dramatic, he also knew that this decision was the right one. It would help his family secure their position on the Wizengamot because his father would not have to take the Mark, which meant that when Regulus eventually removed Orion from the picture, House Black would be in a relatively untarnished place. The only tainting would be the madness and the evil son who secretly pulled strings from behind the obscuring veil.

And, most importantly, it would save Sirius.

The brother he so dearly loved.

Regulus tucked his hands deeper within his pockets, fingering his wand. Knockturn Alley was just round the bend. Regulus made for it, but stopped stiffly when he saw them. The four of them, outside Florean Fortescue's, laughing about some nonsense.

Sirius was with them. He looked better. Better than he had, anyway. For a moment, Regulus wanted to stop fully and approach him. He wanted to ask about his well-being, or apologise for their insane mother...

But that would ruin the plan. The very careful plan.

Swallowing his regret, Regulus walked onward.

-·-

She appeared almost out of shadow. Big black eyes wide as though she had just seen something frightening, and a sadistic smile spread across her pale face.

She greeted him with a bright, "Cousin Riona is dead."

Regulus nodded curtly. He had heard. "That half-blood girl, yes?"

"Little bitch escaped," retorted Trix. "Even Randolf LeStrange is dead. He's my betrothed's uncle. Then there was Malcolm Avery and Lucius Malfoy. They say Malcolm's neck snapped like a twig. Personally, I don't think the muck-blood could do that."

Regulus raised an elegant eyebrow, though none of this was news. "Lucius Malfoy?"

Trix smiled that dangerous smile again and began to circle him like a predator stalking her prey. "Oh, yes," she said, sucking on the tip of her wand. "Lucius escaped without a scratch. Cissy was most pleased."

Regulus met her gaze. He remembered when they had both been young, and Trix had not been so bad. A little selfish, perhaps, and pampered, but not... Not this. This monster who prided herself on every life she took, and cackled over their corpses. It was the Cruciatus that had done this to her. Far too liberal a punishment, in Regulus's opinion (which was why, in order to preserve his precious sanity, he never put a toe out of line).

"I imagine so," he said.

Trix leaned forward and nipped his ear with her sharp teeth. Regulus suppressed his revulsion. Yes, the Unforgivable and bad breeding — particularly incestuous marriages — had turned Trix into a monster.

"No," he said, quite flatly.

Trix's lips curved into a rather petulant pout. She'd mastered it at age five. "But this jacket makes you look so dashing."

"And that blood on your neck makes you look _divine_ , Trix." He rolled his eyes and looked away, toward the black brick wall. "Do you have it?"

She sighed, practically pressing herself against him, as though he were some foolish child who needed to be taught a lesson. Of course, Blacks never had familial lessons like that. They got a choice between the whip or the rod until they confessed their wrongdoings. Regulus still had lash-marks across his back from that one time, at age four. "Kiss me, and maybe I'll give it to you," said Trix.

"We don't have time for your games, Trix." He made his tone emotionless. Flat as to convey his nonexistent interest in what she was doing.

"Just one?"

"Aren't you engaged?" Regulus pulled his wand out and casually thrust it against her pale white neck. "Would Dolf be pleased?"

Trix huffed. "Dolf only ever takes me from behind. He doesn't like looking at me, and sometimes he fucks _boys_ , Reg."

Regulus had _not_ needed to know that. Completely unnecessary information, but then Trix had always had a tendency to over-share. God, she well and truly did not understand the meaning of privacy. He tried not to wrinkle his nose at her antics.

"Give me the box."

"Give me a kiss."

Why? Why was she so bloody insistent on it? Could she not, for once, just be cooperative? Could she not sabotage a plan.

"We don't have a lot of time," he snapped. If he attacked her, would that give too much away?

"Better kiss me quick, then."

Regulus bit into his lip. She grinned, thinking that she had succeeded in her little plan. But then Regulus pushed her forward against the wall and grabbed at the small, beaded bag she held. Trix, too startled and affronted to even comprehend what he was doing, did not even notice that he had stolen the device until he was halfway down the street. He could hear her calling after him.

If only he had known what a mistake it had been.

He would not have done it.

* * *

They stared at the dark blue door, as though waiting for something.

Pandora tugged at Lily's hand. "We should go in," the younger girl whispered. Her silver-blue eyes were wide.

"Is she... Will she be alright? To take you in?"

Pandora shrugged. "I haven't seen her since I was eight. I wouldn't know."

Marlene, from behind Lily, gestured to the rest of Diagon Alley. "Do you want us to wait while you go in? I could fetch some ice-cream or...?"

"I'll go with you," said Mary.

And then they were gone.

Lily swallowed, looking back up at the crooked terraced home. "And you're sure this is where she lives, yeah?"

"Just ring the bloody door-bell," Pandora snapped.

Lily did. She would wish she had not.

With the first knock the door was pulled open. Lily stared at the dark, cavernous hall. A feeling of absolute foreboding settled over her. There was no one behind the door, Lily had determined, until the high, squeaky voice of a house elf called up to her. "Miss Dora," it said. "Mistress be expectin' you."

Pandora nodded, shortly. "I know the way," she said, dismissively.

Lily followed her up the rickety stairwell, wand in hand for something about this place... Was unsettling. It gave her an unusual sense of foreboding; every hair on the back of her neck stood up, and suddenly Lily was questioning why she had decided to blindly follow this young, ignorant girl into a strange house.

And then she knew why. For, there in the parlour was a chair. And in that chair, sitting on it as though he had been borne to it, was Lucius Malfoy.

* * *

 _(Wiltshire; the day prior)_

They were in an abandoned flat.

Pandora did not know how she had come to be here. One moment, she had been standing in front of the pale-haired wizard, and the next she was in a dusty, dank room, lying on the floor with sleep-filled eyes.

The pale haired man stood above her. He held a wand. An incantation was on his lips, and the next thing she knew she was floating again — only this time, she was so far up in the sky that she could not even see the world below.

* * *

 _(Wiltshire, the day prior)_

The little girl stood up, a pale willowy thing with barely any colour at all. Frank found himself frowning. "You Imperiused her," he stated.

Lucius Malfoy smirked. "Indeed."

"Then why... Why aren't her eyes pale?"

It was true; her eyes were as vibrant of a silver blue as they had been before the curse had been cast. She stood there blankly, swaying in an ever-so-slight way which made Frank dizzy. Lucius fingered his wand. "It is a variation, of sorts, Master Longbottom," he said, crouching down so that he and Frank could be eye-to-eye. "You see, I would never use an Unforgivable. Not truly. To understand this spell you must understand the concepts of both Leglimency and Occlumecy—"

"I do," Frank found himself confessing; anything to buy time.

Lucius nodded sharply. "I am not evil, Master Longbottom," he said. Frank did not believe him, but he nodded. Lucius gave an exasperated sigh in response to Frank's agreement. "Please, do not patronise me. I know that what I have done is an act of... Shall we say, lawful evil? Yes, I think that suits it."

He nodded again, more to himself. Frank stared.

"You see," said Lucius, after a moment, "the curse of Imperius is one that takes over the entire mind. It controls every sense and thought. Shuts down all emotion, consciousness, and willpower. What I have just cast on Ms. Blackwood, here, is a modified, more subdued spell. Sort of like a memory-redirector." He smiled thinly. "It takes over the _subconscious_. It, in this case, has removed any and all fear that Ms. Blackwood had toward me. It has taken away her hesitancy to follow my orders. It has made her a slave of sorts."

Lucius paused, meeting Frank's eyes. "This is an act of evil," he said.

"Yes," Frank agreed.

"I'm going to use it on you, Master Longbottom," Lucius told him.

"That's pretty fucked up," Frank told him. And it was. The wizard had dominated Frank with a sort of superior skill; disarming and tying him up in a matter of minutes. If Frank hadn't been so surprised, he might have been able to fight back. At least flee. But here he was, bound and wandless, and without any possible help.

Lucius twirled his wand. "You won't remember I did it," he said, voice so eerily quiet it send chills down Frank's spine. "You won't even remember it happened to you. The actions I force you to take will be so subtle, no one will ever suspect..." He sighed. "I suppose I just wanted to see the look on your face when I tell you that, Frank Longbottom, you are going to help me kill Alice Melifula."

Rage bubbled up inside of him. Never, he thought vehemently. "Never," he spat, in the same tone.

Lucius shook his head. "I'm almost sorry I have to do this," he said, and it sounded as though he meant it. Before Frank could raise another word of protest — struggling in his bonds as he was — the spell had been cast.

* * *

 **AN: This... This took a long time to write. *pants* Right, okay. So, here's this. Sorry for the allusions to incest; that's very out of my comfort zone, but as a writer of Game of Thrones fan fiction, I can't say I've never written stuff like that before. The thing I've ACTUALLY never done before is write such a thing from the POV of a person experiencing it, only from an outsider POV who is mercifully disgusted. Needless, writing about such things is super uncomfortable.**

 **But, you know, at least they're cousins. Was Regulus uncomfortable enough? I just feel like Trix comes on to him quite a lot, so he's sort of used to it. Trix is... *shivers* She's difficult to write, but in a way I feel like it adds some mental diversity; a splotch of crazy in my pool of sane teenagers.**

 **Review, please! Favourite and follow; whatever finds your fancy.**


	5. Lulu

_Five: The Man Who Sold The World_

 _(non: incursion)_

Sweetness comes in small doses.

When it does come, it is precious. Something to be remembered. A soft touch. An honest smile. An embrace, which blocks out any negative feeling. All of these things and more are cherished. Some never experience any of them. Some do not know the meaning of sweetness. Some do not know what it is to be loved.

And when you are loved, it is there. A thing of Always which resonates though not only your very bones and heart, but all other things, all other yous, in all other worlds. You can feel it. By touch. By sight. By heart. It is a memory. It is a collection of sweet moments and bad moments alike. These little and big things form the most important feeling one can experience.

A love that lasts... Now, that is even more unique.

* * *

Regulus set the box down, after he had decided he was far enough away from Trix. He could no longer hear her wild yelling.

There he was sat, with this ornate box in hand. It was carved of ebony, encrusted with jewels, and unlocked with a silver key (a key which Regulus currently possessed, which he'd nicked from his father's desk drawer).

And inside were explosives.

Regulus fingered them delicately, eyes alight with keen interest. They were long, silver tubes, capped on either end with knobs carved in the shape of serpent heads. And inside they radiated pure, unadulterated magic. Angry magic.

Ignis Fistulae.

He'd never seen one up close. Never held one. But he'd read about them, and he'd heard of them. He knew the spell to stay them, and he knew how to heal the wounds which they inflicted. Which was all part of the Plan.

Unfortunately he was unable to execute said Plan, for the Fustulae in his hand was suddenly not in his hand, but rather in that of his cousin Trix. She was practically salivating, with her legs spread apart wider than shoulder length as she stood not seven feet away.

"Shoulda given me that kiss, Reg," she said, as her eyes flashed dangerously.

He felt cold, suddenly. Very cold. "Trix," he said, voice urgent. "What are you planning?"

She grinned. "The usual. A raid. Bit of soul-stealing. A few dead bodies and a nice big..." She began to unscrew one end, " _fire_."

* * *

"Evans, is it? Lily Evans? I remember you, I think. You were two years below me at Hogwarts."

Lily shivered. His voice was like silk, but somehow it stung her. Pandora had circled his chair and was now standing behind him with an impassive face. Her eyes were vacant. "Shit," muttered Lily. She should've known. God, had she gone soft?!

"I suppose you are wondering how it is—"

"Not really," said Lily, firmly. "I mean, it's pretty obvious, isn't it? You Imperiused her, and you made her bring me here. You were part of the force that attacked her family."

Malfoy blinked, surprised, and then grinned. "Yes," he said. "Yes, that is it... Perhaps not precisely, but that is the essence of it."

Lily scowled. "If you're going to kill me, just do it."

"Oh, my dear, _no_ ," Malfoy shook his head as though she were some foolish child. "That is not at all..." He drew in a sharp breath. "I think it is past time, Ms. Evans, for a revolution. Do you not agree?"

Pride would not allow her to say anything, nor would stubbornness. Instead she swallowed and jerked her head vaguely northward. Malfoy nodded. "I Imperiused Pandora to get you here, so that I could speak with you and only you. She was meant to show up wherever you were, which I initially assumed to be your muggle residence. I was proven wrong."

"What do you want?"

"I have already told you what I want, Ms. Evans," said Malfoy. "Now, you may do the same. Ask any favour of me, and it will be done."

Lily opened and closed her mouth, brow furrowed and speechless. For a moment, the air was thick with unsaid words and opportunities. And then, "Lift the curse off of Pandora."

Malfoy winced. "Anything but that, I am afraid," he smiled. "She will be needed later."

"And you think I'll just... What? Keep my mouth shut about the fact that you used an illegal curse on a little girl?!"

"Oh, I know you will." Malfoy paced over the worn, rickety wood, wand in hand. Lily eyed it. "I am very accomplished, Ms. Evans. Perhaps more so than even you are, or could ever be. You see, what you muggle-borns fail to understand is that magic is ancient; deeply rooted within those of our pure blood. We carry books that hold many forgotten secrets. We know words worse than 'Avada Kedavra.'" He smirked as she winced. "Those secrets will die out, because we cannot trust muggle-borns with them, for even their closest of kin do not have magic. If they... So much as spoke these deadly words... The consequences would be dire, my dear."

"Muggle-borns," Lily said, storing all that he had just told her away for later examination. "You... Said muggle-borns. Not Mudbloods."

"Is that mud in your veins, Ms. Evans?" They both eyed her pale wrists. "No. I think not. Refusing to use such an uncouth, immature _name-calling..._ "

"Why are you doing this?" Lily took a bold step forward, and yet she nor Malfoy made any sort of reaction to it. She would not balk. "Why are you... What are you trying to achieve?"

Lucius Malfoy laced his hands together. And then he spoke the words which would make the whole world fall apart.

* * *

Impatience makes a mockery of us all.

James tapped his fingers on the table, leaning back in the chair. The overhang was frayed and full of holes. Sun shined through it. "Why are we here?" He wondered aloud.

Sirius sighed for what seemed like the thousandth time that day. "We're getting dress robes for Dorky's summer party. I've _told_ you this."

James grunted. "I'd rather not go to a party, Pads."

"Yeah, you've said that." Sirius sipped his butterbeer. "How much sleep have you gotten lately?"

James thought. "Five hours, these past two nights, I reckon."

Sirius shot James a look. He then turned to Remus. "I think we should be strapping him down to his bed every night," he said, in an offhand, careless sort of way.

Remus raised an eyebrow. "You do realise how many inappropriate jokes you've opened up, yeah?"

They both grinned ruefully. Peter snickered into his ice cream bowl, and so James reached forward and boxed his ear. "There will be no inappropriate jokes involving me," he said sharply. "Not when I haven't the whit to keep up with you lot."

Sirius shrugged. "Whatever you say, Prongs," he told him. "Just know that—"

But in that very moment, time stopped. Something coiled within James — a warning of sorts. The sky grew dark and clouded, and the streets began to frost over. There, at the end of the alley, was a hoard of dementors.

Peter dropped his spoon. It clattered against the iron table, seemingly echoing out into oblivion. Remus rose, slowly, pulling his wand from up his sleeve. James and Sirius did the same, at once, gathering courage from their friend. When James looked back, Peter was gone.

"He's changed," Sirius hissed to him. "Probably he's going to get help."

James nodded numbly. He knew the incantation, he knew the theory... It was the memory which always tricked him. But in that moment something changed within James Potter. Something happened. He became. He became a person. He became a warrior. He became scarred.

 _There she stood. Unruly red hair which turned copper when the sun hit it, gleaming like a fall of fire. Her eyes, alight and without hatred for she did not know him as she had come to, yet. They were so green. A brilliant green. James thought that perhaps it was then he realised what it meant to truly love someone. To give up all you had, as though it were nothing and everything. To offer yourself and to take nothing in return._

" _Expecto patronum!_ "

From the tip of his wand shot a brilliant white stag. Prongs ran across the cobblestone alley without making a sound. At his side was a large, scruffy dog and an obscure wolf. The patronuses collided with the dementors. A sort of shield appeared.

It was then that James began to hear what he had subconsciously blocked out. People were screaming, pushing each other over to get to the Leaky Caldron. Some were apparating awayright there. Others stood frozen, paralysed with fear.

"We have to go," Sirius was saying. "We've done what we can!" His hand came down on James's shoulder, and with it there was a sort of tugging feeling... but James had eyes only for the dark cloaked figures at the end of the alley, still fighting their spirit animals.

There came three cracks. James's head whipped around, for there was something different about this apparation sound than the others around them. Something more menacing. Something more foreboding.

They wore silver masks and hooded black robes. They held wands. James's heart stopped. His eyes went from them, to the dementors, to Sirius, and then to a crying little girl who was tugging desperately on her mother's cloak, trying to get her to _move_.

"Prongs!"

"Shut up, Sirius!" James whipped around to face his friend. "Be my second," he ordered. "Remus, help who you can — get them to the Leaky Caldron, make sure they're safe and they know where they're going."

Remus nodded and ran off. Sirius and James stepped off of the curb and on to the street. The death eater in the middle stepped forward, but he was not looking at James, nor Sirius, but rather the crying girl. James knew what was going to happen before it happened. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do.

" _No_!" Wildly, then, " _Protego_!"

" _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ "

It did not work.

* * *

Regulus slapped Trix across the face. The Ignis shot out of her hand and nearly landed upon the pavement, which would have caused a huge explosion, but thankfully he caught it in time. Thank God for Seeker training.

Trix cried out with indignation. "How dare you!?"

"Shut up, Trix," Regulus snapped. He screwed the lid back on tightly. "Do you have any idea what you've done? What sort of danger you've put our house in? We could get thrown off the Wizengamot if this got out!"

Trix rolled her eyes. "Don't be dramatic," she scolded. "No one would find out."

"The canister has our bloody house words on it!" Just so that she would know he was not exaggerating, he held up the tube. There, in neat black lettering, was _Tojurus Pur_. "You absolute _duff_."

Eyes wide, she reached out and struck him across the cheek in turn. Regulus did not stagger, but his head flew the other direction. Madly he kept his grip on the Ignis. "It was Dolf's idea!" She hissed. "I was only supposed to carry the box from here to there! How did you even find out?"

Regulus dabbed at his split lip with the tip of his finger. "Dolf told me," he lied. "He said he'd made a mistake."

Something like doubt crises Trix's features, but then it was gone. She lunged forward, and for a moment Regulus thought she was going for him, but then she was behind him and scooping up the box itself. "See you in hell," she told him.

With a crack she was gone.

Regulus let out a cry of absolute frustration. He punched a nearby wall. A brick wall. His hand was broken. There was another frustrated cry, followed by a hasty healing incantation, and then a cloaked figure was darting out of a sub-alley and racing down the road.

Only to be stopped, _of course_ , by a hoard of angry dementors. Regulus wondered where she had got hold of them, before he remembered that Dolf had been in on the plan. A clever little distraction, that.

 _They were at their grandfather's estate. Sirius sat in a rusted old swing, his feet swaying. He looked very aged, Regulus thought, for a nine-year-old boy. Clumsily he climbed up into the seat beside his brother and offered a placating smile. "I'm sure she didn't mean it," he offered._

 _Sirius smiled, too, in a broken sort of way. "Do you know something, Egg?" He reached over and mussed Regulus's hair. "I love you. Loads and loads."_

" _Expecto patronum!_ "

There came forward from his wand a brilliant white lab. It mixed in with another three indistinguishable patronuses. Then Regulus was running again.

He spotted Sirius and James Potter, still near Florean's. Unfortunately, so were three Death Eaters and the limp body of a little girl. "Oh, shit," he muttered, clasping his wand tightly. He scurried over to a shadowed corner, under the canopy of a Knockturn shop, and waited.

"What did you _do_?!" Came his brother's inevitable, outraged cry. Regulus winced.

"Problem, blood traitor?" The middle Death Eater, whom Regulus now knew to be Mulciber, asked.

Sirius raised his wand in reply, eyes wide and face twisted into absolute rage. " _Diffindo_!"

Mulciber, easily dodging, retorted with an indifferent; " _Crucio_!"

The spell did not manage to strike Sirius, for Regulus had swiped it aside with a whispered, " _Circumduxit_." Sirius composed himself as Regulus had seen him do many times, though both he and Mulciber seemed phased, and sent a knockback jinx at the second Death Eater — Rabastan, Regulus guessed — who with a surprised cry was thrown into a wall so hard the bricks behind him cracked.

"You're not getting up again, Rab," Regulus reported, pleased. Bloody bastard.

James Potter and the third Death Eater were soon engaged in an intense, quick battle. Behind all of them, the patronuses were fading. Regulus swiftly cast his once again.

That was when he saw her; hopping from rooftop to rooftop with that ornate box in hand. There was a mad smile on her face. Regulus perked up in an instant. Fight forgotten (he knew very well that Sirius could handle himself) he ran down a narrow way and found a few spare crates. He stacked them up and hauled himself onto the roof of the Owl Emporium.

Through the skylight he could see Nancy Greenwall cowering behind the counter, clutching a small boy to her chest. They were both crying. Regulus tore his eyes away from the scene and secured his hood.

"Trix!"

She stopped, mid-jump, and turned to him with her feet hovering in the air. A delighted smile crossed her features. "You always make it hard, Reg," she said. "Why are you trying to stop me, hmm?"

"This is not the way," Regulus said, loudly so that she could hear him. "This is not the Dark Lord's will."

Trix laughed. "Reg... you've been babied, haven't you? Poor love." She shook her head and tsked. Then, with a flourish of her wand, the Cruciatus curse had been send straight toward him. Regulus did not have a chance to block or defend himself. There was no one to save him in that moment.

Suddenly all he knew was pain. That was it. A burning, horrible, mad fire that was everywhere. He felt as though he were being eaten and melted. His skin... Why was his skin not blackened? How could it be that he was not on fire? For minutes, this was all there was. There were several cracks, and he knew that several of his bones had broken. His brain felt as though it was going to explode. His mouth was full of blood from biting down on his tongue, and he _could not breathe..._

Then the fire was gone, but the pain was still there. The pain of broken bones, and the lingering after-effects of the curse. He was gasping; drawing in heaving breaths. His lung had collapsed. God, he could feel it; the absence of true breathing. It was so claustrophobic.

"Sorry, Reg," said Trix, from where she was positioned what seemed hundreds of miles above him. A Dark Star.

 _I'm sorry, too._

* * *

"You'll break her," Lily said.

"It's for the greater good," Lucius retorted.

"Stop bloody saying that!" She paced across the wood floor, frantically pulling at the ends of her hair. "It's not! It's not good if it's based off of something so horribly wrong! How can you even...?"

Lucius smiled thinly. His patience was wearing down, she knew that. But she also knew that she had to convince him of rationality. If he had come this far, to this conclusion, that muggles did not need to be killed and there was no need to discriminate against muggle-borns... She could draw him away from this plan.

"It's a necessary sacrifice," he told her.

Lily fumed. "How is that _necessary_?!" She demanded. "These are human lives we're talking about!"

"They will not die," Lucius amended. "I will make sure of it. But it is an action which will no doubt ensure the feigned loyalties of my house. I can do nothing else."

"This could kill her," Lily snapped. "I won't agree to it. Absolutely not."

"She has a power which cannot be tamed! It is unexplored, it is unexplained! Who are we to say that this will do her no relative harm?!"

"You're not sending her through that damned Veil, Lucius Malfoy! I don't care what secrets you uncover, you're not doing it! I won't let you."

"What can you do to stop me?"

"I can kill you."

Lucius grinned. "You can try."

They glared at one another. Or, more likely, she glared at him and he stared back indifferently. Finally she snapped. "You're a horrible person," Lily hissed.

"And so will you help me?"

"No," Lily glowered. "Absolutely not." Then her eyes drifted toward Pandora, who stared blankly at the wall. "But I'll help her, if you take that curse off."

Lucius hummed. His wand flicked. Pandora fell to her knees. Frantically, Lily ran to catch her. "I'm going to take her home with me," she told Lucius. "You do your part, and I'll do mine. She need never know you had anything to do with this."

Lucius nodded. He was not a bad man, Lily knew. Not an evil one. Merely misguided.

* * *

Trix landed on her feet, like a feline, and jogged down into the main alley. Randy was unconscious, because Randy was weak. Alabaster Avery was duelling James Potter. The dementors were no longer being held at bay. Gleefully, Trix giggled. She skipped through the streets, torturing those that dared lay eye on her and killing a fair few. The dementors sucked out their souls, resulting in satisfying screams.

Poor cousin Regulus. He was handsome, yes, but he was a fool. He didn't understand the things she did. Probably his daddy didn't tell him the things that hers did. It wasn't his fault. And at least he wasn't some blood traitor like Sirius.

She zeroed in on him. Suddenly they were both dancing the dance of death. Spinning and twirling and firing off hex after hex. Trix laughed.

* * *

The aurors came not ten minutes after the initial fight began. There were ten of them in total, all in red robes with badges. Sirius watched them come into existence. Five of them were immediately dispatched to deal with the dementors, whilst the others stayed behind. One hexed the largest, most broadest Death Eater squarely in the chest.

And then, seemingly out of nowhere, was Marlene McKinnon. She came in with all of her skinny-bodied glory, hair flying behind her, and tackled the Death Eater nearest her. They both tumbled to the ground. "Marlene!" Sirius cried.

Bella took advantage of his momentary distraction. She aimed a hex at him — a rather nasty one by the looks of it. Half of it struck him. Horrible, deep cuts were suddenly opened on the right side of his body. Within seconds he was covered in blood, and lightheaded.

Marlene wrestled with the Death Eater, making it hard for the Aurors to get a clear shot. Hissing in pain, Sirius managed to send a stunner at Bella. She had clearly not expected him to have the energy to retaliate. Stumbling back, for her hasty shield had been shotty, she cried out with rage.

He made to finish her off — whatever that meant; the words were on the tip of his tongue but he could not even comprehend them — but suddenly a dark figure was swooping out of nowhere. He was lean and tall, like Sirius himself, but aside from that his identity was indistinguishable.

"Get off!" Bella shrieked. "What are you doing—?"

They both fell.

That was all that Sirius knew for a while.

* * *

He had just managed to prize the box from her hands when it happened. They all fell out — every Ignis rolled across the stones.

Regulus watched them rattle. One un-screwed as it went. His mind said, "Of course," while his mouth yelled, " _PROTEGO_!"

At least Sirius would be safe from the explosion.

* * *

Before the fire, James watched as the last Death Eater standing wrapped his arm around a struggling Marlene, and with a crack, they were gone. James did not have time to comprehend what had just happened. There was a yell, from an auror, and a resonating clatter as several silver tubes rolled out of a box.

Then there was fire. He dropped to the ground and threw up a shield.

Diagon Alley exploded.

* * *

Peter Pettigrew stood behind the ice cream shop, wand in hand, and watched as the many bodies fought. He felt sick to his stomach at the thought of one of his friends dying, but what could he do to help? He knew no spells, really, that would aid them. He could do nothing to protect them...

And so he bit his lip so hard that it bled. Though his tears, the world spun, and then he was back home and safe in the wine cellar

* * *

 **AN: Hello, all! Sorry this took so long; I've been rather busy with other stories and I honestly just didn't feel motivated to write this. I mean, this is hardly getting any response. But to the response it has gotten, I am IMMENSELY grateful. Thank you for reading, I love you.**

 **Anyway, review! Please. Seriously. I want to know what the readers think.**

 **Much love! xx**


	6. Atomic Rooster

_Six: The Devil's Answer_

 _(non: incarceration)_

Everything hurt. His bones were aching, his head pounding, and his heart... it could not be beating; he could not feel it. When he pressed his hand to his chest, it felt moist and hot. Something red was held up against a clear white sky. The air smelt of dirt.

That was when he gasped for the first time. The breath which was drawn in seemed to go on for minutes. Wildly Sirius clawed at the ground, feeling for his wand, but the only thing that came up was rubble.

He was confused and disoriented, and yet he had at least these thoughts; _find Remus; get to James._

There was his purpose. And so Sirius tried very hard to sit up, and somehow he managed to do just that. But he was covered in blood, it would seem. Some other foreign force was pressing him back down into the ground.

With not the strength to fight against it, Sirius found that his only accomplishment had been wasted. He gasped again, coughing, and saw that there was someone above him.

James's father.

The man stood perfectly spotless in a tweed coat, and yet there was so much ash and dirt and grime all around them. His face rippled, and Sirius realised that he was using a bubble-head charm. Suddenly there was one around his head as well.

"Lay here," James's father said, from far away. "I'm going to find someone to help you—"

" _J-James?_ "

"I'm going to find him," Charles promised, voice strained. Suddenly there were tears in his eyes. "I promise. Just lie still, alright?"

Then, with a scraping sound, Charles Potter rose to his feet and called out to someone far off. After that, he was gone. Someone else dropped down beside Sirius, now; Remus. Remus was here. Thank God.

"How are you, mate?" Asked the blonde wizard. He sounded rather worried. "Are you alright? Fairing well?"

"Th-there's only s-so many ways to ph-phrase it, Reme," Sirius croaked. His throat felt horribly raw.

Remus laughed. "Sorry."

"Where... are the others? What happened?"

"Rest, Sirius." His friend pushed down on his chest, brow furrowed with concern.

And that was when Sirius remembered. Outraged and desperate, he grabbed Remus by his coat collar and dragged him down. "Where is Marlene?!"

"Sirius..." Remus ripped himself away.

" _Tell me!_ "

"They took her, Sirius. She's gone."

* * *

They had fallen to the ground with the blast of the explosion — all three of them. Lily wound her arms around Pandora's waist. The young girl was crying. Unsteadily, she removed her wand from her sleeve and cast bubblehead charms around them both, for the air was full of sawdust and smoke.

"Malfoy?"

If you had asked her yesterday whether or not she would ever be concerned for his life, she would have laughed. Not so anymore. There were too many plans at stake now; the structure of it all would fall apart, leaving her a hopeless architect of destruction.

He stirred — a pile of black cloak and disheveled hair — and caught her eye. "There has been an explosion."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Clearly!"

He dusted off his robes and rose to his feet, offering her a hand in turn. She took it, unsure, and then helped Pandora up as well. The young girl whimpered. Lily squeezed her hand and turned to Malfoy. "What happened?"

"I assume my doltish colleagues got into some form of mischief or the other." They turned to the window, which was splintered and... well, it was a hole. A gaping hole. Lily swallowed.

"You call _this_ mischief?"

Lucius huffed. "And I thought James Potter was bad."

" _Malfoy!_ "

"Oh, what? It wasn't my doing. Doubtless it was Bella. She's mad, you know."

"I'd gathered," Lily said dryly. And then, all at once, she remembered Mary and Marlene. "Oh my god. I have to go. Pandora, come with me—"

"I'm afraid I cannot let you leave without a secrecy vow—"

Lily rounded on him, furious at both the ingrate and herself. "I'll keep your fucking secrets, Lucius, but I need to find my friends!"

Lucius outright scoffed at that. " _Gryffindors_ ," he muttered, with obvious contempt. "Contact me this Sunday. You'll take your vow then."

"Whatever." She ran outside, and into the previously sunny atmosphere. It was now grey with ash and cloud and smoke. _What happened?_ "MARY! MARLENE!"

"Evans!"

Oh, of course. Of course it was bloody Potter. He approached her, stumbling through the rubble, covered in soot. "Are you alright? Who is this? Where is Mary?"

Lily scowled. "I'm fine. This is Pandora. She's also fine. And I _clearly_ don't know where Mary is, as anyone with _half a brain cell_ would know that calling for someone in such a scenario clearly indicates that you have _no idea where they are!_ "

Potter winced. "There's no time for the usual banter, Evans. We've got shit to do."

He grabbed her by the arm and guided her out of the rubble. She reluctantly followed, without an alternative, keeping a firm grip on Pandora, who was practically asleep. Lily worried she might have taken a blow to the head. A healer would have come in handy by now; Lily didn't know such charms, yet (she had signed up for a course on the subject for this upcoming year) and was worried about the potential side-effects of wrongly executed magic inflicted on a vital organ such as the brain.

 _What am I thinking about?!_ "Potter! Where was the last place you saw Mary?! What _happened_?"

Potter face her a sideways glance as they hurried onward. "There was an explosion," he said. Bloody hell, boys are dense! "I dunno where Mary was; She wasn't anywhere near the fight, and I got blasted back — by my father, I think. I need to find Sirius and Remus and—"

"That's all well and good, but Dora here is injured, and I need to find my friends." She coughed. "Why are you dragging me along on your excursion?"

He stopped, and bit his lip, which annoyed her. They didn't have the time to spare. "I..." Potter was clearly putting an effort into swallowing his pride. "I need your help."

She glared. "Did that hurt?" demanded she, hotly. Potter opened his mouth to protest, but she couldn't let him — not now. "Oh, what does it matter?! Mary could be dead! Marlene could be! I don't have the time for you, so just... just sod off, Potter!"

With that, she ripped herself from his grasp and stormed off, careful not to trip over the bits of broken building, holding Dora (who, thank god, was thin and willowy enough not to be too much of a burden). James Potter stood alone in the mess whilst she walked the other way, toward the bustle of survivors.

* * *

Remus held the cloth over the bleeding wounds on Sirius's side. His friend — his best friend, really — was utterly white, and covered in a thin sheen of perspiration. There were healers running around, having just arrived via floo. One ran up to them.

"Hello," said she, brightly, as she had been no doubt trained to do. "I'm Madeline. What's his name, then?"

"Sirius," said Remus, purposely leaving out his surname lest she refuse to heal a Black. There were people like that, he knew. "Can you fix him?"

Madeline un-shouldered her bag and bent over Sirius, studying his wounds with a frown. Then she brought out her wand and began to cast, muttering a series of complexities which Remus didn't understand for they were latinised, but he knew that they were diagnosing charms.

The result was not good, Remus inferred, based off of her frightened and troubled expression. "This was a dark charm," she told him, hushed. "I don't know the name, but I can feel its power. The damage... the damage to curses is hard to reverse. All of his flesh is tainted now. Healing charms and potions will have little to no effect—"

"Like werewolf bites?"

She sighed, regretful. "Yes, precisely."

Remus had plenty of experience with those. Madeline didn't know that, however. She hiked up her skirt a bit and stood. "Put his head on your lap and make sure you keep him awake. I'm going to stop the bleeding."

Remus did as she instructed, thoroughly confused. "But how?"

"The muggle way, of course; cauterise it." With that she readied her wand and removed the fabrics from Sirius's wounds. The cuts on his side and arms were jagged, deep, and bloody. She set her jaw and with a flick the tip of her wand was glowing hot, like a poker that had just been removed from a fireplace.

"This is going to hurt like the dickens, alright? Stuff a wad of fabric in his mouth so he doesn't bite his tongue off."

Remus frowned. "What—?"

"Stuff a wad of fabric in his mouth, man, now!" Remus hurriedly did as she instructed. Sirius gagged once, eyes full of hurt and betrayal, and then the rest was history. There were sixteen cuts in total, Madeline had told him, later, and the only reason he hadn't died already was the fact that the curse itself made the bleeding out slow, so you knew you were going to die when it happened.

When she was done, Sirius had passed out from the pain. Remus had done all that he could to keep his fellow marauder awake, but in the end his efforts had failed. Madeline shot him a look and then tapped her wand against Sirius's forehead. " _Inneverate_."

Sirius's eyes fluttered open. "Right," said Madeline, rising and brushing the soot from her skirts, "it's a temporary fix, but as soon as a new layer of skin grows, you can give him a skin restorative potion that'll fix him up nicely. Until then, keep the wounds clean and lubricated. They'll scar, but they'll fade after time."

"But not completely?"

"No," she pursed her lips. "That's how it is with curses, though, isn't it?"

With that, she was gone; off to help another patient. Charles Potter appeared, dusty and grim. "Healer fixed him up, then?"

Remus nodded. "Did you find James?"

"No," said Charles. "But we found the thing that did it."

* * *

" _Ignis Fustulae,_ they're called," said auror Heavensby. "Ancient things — from way back in the day. Siphoned Wild Magic, that is."

Charles cleared his throat, warningly, and so Heavensby shut his mouth. "That's enough of that, for now, Higgins. Thank you. If you could please gently place the tube in my hand, and I'll send it off to the Ministry for analysis."

Higgins Heavensby complied, being as gentle with the _Ignis_ as one might be with dynamite, in case left over fluid remained. Charles took it, gingerly, and placed a wordless protective charm around it. Then he was walking, toward Finch, who took it from him and rushed off without rushing, somehow.

"Dad!"

Relief filled him in that moment, such relief, for he recognised James's voice instantly. Charles turned, apprehensive and glad, only to see his one and only son walking toward him, covered in dust from head to toe.

"James," he sighed, heart throbbing, and pulled him into a bone-crushing embrace. "God, you're alive. I was worried my cushioning charm might have..."

"No, it was fine," James grinned, "I mean, I think my arse is broken, but it's fine."

Charles rolled his eyes. "Listen, Remus and Sirius are over there; Sirius took a curse to the side, but he's been fixed up as best as he can for now. Healer Bennet gave him a blood-replenishing potion, but he's still quite out of it." He cleared his throat of the coating.

"Remus is fine, then? And Peter?"

At that, Charles felt suddenly awkward. "Remus is fine. Peter, on the other hand... there was no sign of him, James. No one even saw him when we all arrived. I think he must have run away."

James nodded grimly. "Alright. And what about Marlene? And Mary MacDonald?"

 _Oh, shit._ "Listen, James—"

"What happened? Dad, tell me—"

"She was taken. Marlene. Mary MacDonald is fine, as far as I know. She was away from the blast, but she's rather shaken up. If you could sit with her...?"

James shook his head. "She won't want me. Lily, perhaps."

Charles was utterly befuddled. He'd not heard of half of these people before today. Just what did his son get up to at Hogwarts? "Who is Lily?"

James blushed. _Oh, marvellous_. "It doesn't matter." With that, he pushed past Charles and walked away, focused on someone that Charles could not see. Exasperated and confused, Charles walked the opposite direction, toward the subtly flashing mirror in the alleyway.

* * *

Arcturus stowed his reflecting glass away as Charles approached. He clasped his hands to make sure that the shaking was not obvious and took advantage of the few moments he had to gather himself. _My poor Sirius; my heir. I beg of you, do not have gone gentle into that good night._

"Lord Black," said Charles, pinning a button on his red robes. "You'll be glad to know, I assume, that Sirius lives?"

Relief struck Arcturus like a tidal wave. He sagged against the wall. "Thank God."

Charles was grinning. Arcturus glared. "Oh, shove off, you ponce. The boy is my grandson. I care for him a great deal."

"Oh, of course." Charles looked down at his shoes to hide his smile. "I just... appreciate your lack of decorum, on the rare occasions that it does go a bit... lax."

"Lax?!" Arcturus was incensed. "I'll have you know that I am renowned to be the most composed man in Wizarding Britain! More so than even Dumbledore!"

"Hubris unbecomes you, Arcturus."

The older wizard scowled. "And gluttony, you," he snarled, tapping his cane against Charles's growing gut. His companion's eyes widened with indignation. "Alas, I haven't the time to listen to ad hominem retorts; the more you sputter the redder your face grows from the exertion—"

Charles rolled his eyes. "Oh, honestly, Arcturus, you can lay off."

Arcturus huffed. "So what was it then? That did this?"

"Your lot, actually."

"Of course." Arcturus pinched the bridge of his nose in impatience. "Another court case for me, it would seem. And who will I be playing the character witness to?"

"I caught a glimpse of her just before the explosion, conveniently — just before some unidentifiable person pushed her out of the way. It was Bellatrix. But you needn't worry about a court appearance; I removed your words from the artifice, rendering it a simple silver tube."

Arcturus was astounded. "Why, in the name of the heavens above, would you do such a thing?"

"They're not going to lock Bellatrix away, Arcturus. You and I both know that. There are far too many allies of hers on the Wizengamot. At best, she would be pulled out of school, but we both know that won't happen either because she won't be charged as guilty. So, I am calling in my favour. You will discipline the girl, Arcturus, as she is your blood. This way, I at least know my conniving will have some effect."

Arcturus scowled. "You overstep, Charles."

"You neglect, Arcturus. She is your family. She is your responsibility. And don't expect me to believe that those explosives were kept anywhere but Black Manor — probably in your ruddy nightstand."

Arcturus was taken utterly aback. "What are you implying?"

"That you grow old," Charles replied, dryly. "Don't sleep without your wand next time, eh?"

With a huff, Arcturus apparated away.

* * *

Mary wrapped the blanket tighter around her body. Sat on the steps of a second-hand robes shop, she was, and shaking. A figure approached, but the wound over Mary's brow only allowed sight out of her left eye, which unfortunately had poor sight.

"My glasses are broken," she proclaimed to the red blob that she assumed was Lily.

"Scoot over, Thelma," said her friend. Mary complied. "You heard about Marlene?"

"Heard. Cried. Fought. Now I'm feeling a bit dead."

Lily nodded. "We have to do something."

There was that familiar determination, which Mary knew like the back of her hand. She had first encountered it in first year, when Lily had proclaimed that she was sneaking off to see Snape, and then in third, when Lily had told them that she would shoot up an inch in May, and in fifth, when she had announced that she was utterly and completely done with James Potter. Such words uttered in such a tone were always true when it came to Lily; more true than anything else she said.

"What can we do?" Mary demanded, exasperated. "Term starts in two months, and we've got no idea where she is—"

"We _can_ do something, Mary," Lily insisted. "I won't stand idly by while my friend is tortured in a bloody basement."

Mary went cold. She felt tears prickle at the corners of her eyes. "You think they're... t-torturing her?" No. Not Marly. Not her. Me, not her.

"They're Death Eaters, Mary," Lily said forcefully. "They could be doing a lot worse than _Crucio_."

Mary swallowed the bile that had risen in her throat. "You're horrible, Lily Evans," she hissed. "Absolutely horrible."

"I know," said Lily. Her eyes went soft. "I know. But I want to... I need to prepare you. When she comes back — because she will come back, Mary, I'll make sure of it — then you and I need to both make sure that we can take care of her. We can't... be naive about this. I love her, and I love you, too. Safety as is important as readiness; as logic."

"And you didn't get sorted into Ravenclaw, how?"

Lily rolled her eyes. "Come on," she said. "We need to get Dora and go home, to plan."

* * *

The basement was dark. Dark, and humid.

Marlene sat against a wall, on a pile of some scratchy material — hay, possibly — and shifted. Every bone felt as though it had been at least fractured. Her skin was peppered with unseeable bruises. "Alice?"

The other girl coughed. "Yeah?"

Her voice was timid and shattered and it crushed Marlene. "Do you think they know we've gone?"

"Of course," Alive assured. Her friend then whimpered quietly, curling up in a ball. The Death Eaters had done a lot worse to her, as she'd been here about fifteen more minutes before Marlene had arrived. They'd taken their time with her.

Frank had taken his time with her.

Marlene still couldn't wrap her head around that. How could Frank — shy, sweet, considerate Frank — beat his own girlfriend half to death? How could he stand there while others hurt her? Marlene didn't know. Perhaps she never would. All she knew was that she was never going to forgive him for it. Alice had, of course, because Alice didn't even believe that it had been really him.

But Marlene had seen his face. And she would never forget the joy it had expressed when he snapped Alice's arm in two with a flick of his wand.

* * *

 **AN: Okay. I'm sorry that took weeks to get out, but I've had other projects I'm working on, and so this kind of got set on the back burner and didn't get much love. But yeah, chapter six! Woo! I absolutely love this story, by the way, and I've added a new bit to the end of last chapter, so go check that out.**

 **Much love! xx**


	7. The Ivy League

_Seven: Tossing and Turning_

 _(non: minds)_

There are several levels of comprehension after a traumatic incident. Much like grief, the first is commonly denial. Denial that anything has happened; that anything at all has changed - because change is so daunting, such a hard concept to grasp, for so many. The next, of course, is panic. Once the realisation of non-levity has set in, the comfort leaves, and suddenly there is no air to breathe. Accordingly, one faces a crossroads after panic has set in: fight or flight. Some say fight, some say flight. Some resume panic, and stay. Lastly, of course, is defiance. By defying one must accept.

For Lily Evans, acceptance came rather easily. There was nothing she could change about what had happened, she reasoned, staring at the dark ceiling above her, upon which shadows played, and listening to the sound of Mary and Dora's snoring. Diagon Alley had exploded, people had died, they'd been injured. Businesses had been put out, no one had been properly detained, and, worst of all, Marlene was gone.

That had been the worst thing - the hardest to even comprehend. It occurred to Lily that possibly she still hadn't yet; there had been so many awful things happening...

The very fact that she could lay here, safe in her bed, was a miracle. That Mary was beside her was a miracle. That Dora had escaped unscathed.

Lily worried not only for Marlene (worried was a rather mild way of putting it, the sixteen year old thought), but for Sirius Black. They were not particularly close, no, but he was in her year and house, and several times they had interacted with one another. She had found, to her immense gratitude, that he was not as bad as Potter (which was, she assumed, the reason he was the ring leader of their little throng).

She had been informed by an auror before departing, via Floo, that Black would be fine. The casualties had come to sixteen, including two aurors, and fourteen civilians. Black had not, nor had any of his mates, been part of that number.

Lily was glad. Though she didn't care for Potter, she wouldn't have wanted him dead. And Remus was her friend. It hurt that anyone had died. Why did death have to be so... so terribly final?

Suddenly there were tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. Lily grit her teeth to keep from sobbing and turned on her side, away from the other two girls, to hide her tears. She took shaky breaths to stay herself, grasping at the sheets for some form of comfort.

"Lily?" Mary's voice was low and concerned. "Are you alright?"

"'M fine," she whispered back, thinking of the lives that had ended (and of her mother, though she would not admit that, for it was too selfish). "Go back to b-bed, Mary."

There was a shuffling, and Lily rather foolishly assumed that Mary had lain back down, so she let her tears form and fall into her pillow. They were cold, but her face was hot. Eyes closed, she could only feel when Mary's hand clasped her own.

"I wasn't asleep, anyway; just pretending," whispered Mary, softly. Lily saw her, then; Brown hair frazzled from the friction and humidity, and face scrubbed clean of cosmetics, revealing pale, slightly reddened skin. "It's alright, Lily."

"No, its not," Lily whispered back, allowing herself that one moment of self-pity. Too many things were happening at once, and her shock was too great, her grief too clouding, to think rationally. _Though I put on a right good show for Malfoy, today, didn't I? Merlin, what have I gotten myself into?_ "We'll be okay. So will Marlene. There are aurors on the case-"

"But it's my fault," Lily interrupted, horrified and guilty. "I should have been there, with you, whilst it was happening..."

Mary's gaze hardened as it so rarely did. "Do you doubt my capability?" Inquired she, scowling. "Do you think that you could have done something - something more than I could have? She threw herself at that death eater, Lily. She did it, and we're going to get her back. It wasn't your fault, and it wasn't mine."

Lily bit her lip and looked away, out the window, through which a half-moon glared luminously, flooding the room with a silver glow. "I'm sorry."

" _Don't_ be."

"But I should be a better friend," Lily countered, wiping away her slowly drying tears. She managed to sit up. "I should be doing something, not lying here, crying. She's probably... probably..."

Mary's eyes widened. "Don't think about that," she pleaded, sitting beside Lily, now, on the bed. " _Please_ , Lily. It'll only make it worse, and then I-I won't be able to help you." Her voice wavered ever-so-slightly. She drew in a sharp breath.

Lily clasped Mary's cool, smooth hands in her own. "My mum is dead," she told her.

"I know," Mary replied, chin trembling. "I'm so, _so_ sorry."

"She was a really great mum," Lily went on. "Dad loved her. She loved Petunia... Even me, no matter how weird everyone else thought I was. And... I exist... She doesn't though, Mary. She's gone, and she's never coming back."

"Neither will mine," whispered a tremulous voice. Lily and Mary both started, having forgotten Pandora was even there.

Lily wiped her eyes and opened her arms to the younger girl, who crawled into them. "I'm very sorry about your mum, Dora," she said.

"Yours too."

* * *

Regulus poured the dark, think liquid over the open burn wound on his calf. It stung, but he made no sound to indicate as such. Almost immediately after contact, the gash began to close and heal, and the blisters faded until there was only a large red patch. Handy stuff, unicorn tears. Regulus hated using it, but the consequences were not as dire as that of unicorn blood - tears were invaluable to the creature, and collecting them was even more harmless than plucking a hair.

"Done?" Inquired Grandfather, with a raised brow.

"I have a few more, but I don't want to risk it," Regulus told him, wiping the resulting tears from his eyes. He passed the bottle to his elder before a fit could commence. "How is Trix?"

"Bella is doing just fine," Grandfather told him. "Her wounds are healed, and, but for a tantrum, I think she will go smoothly through the night."

"She's angry with me for trying to stop her," Regulus assumed, and correctly given the nod he received. "I had to do it, though. No one else would have, and then where would we be?"

"Dead in the ground," Arcturus suggested, leaning on his cane as he sat upon the chaise across from his grandson. "And your mother would be weeping over the loss of her only 'suitable' son."

The corners of Regulus's mouth twitched, but Occlumecy kept the spasm from becoming an all-out grin. "You make a mockery of her."

"Oh, no, dear lad, _Sirius_ does that." Grandfather ducked his head to hide his amusement.

"Do you fault me for taking action?"

Grandfather Arcturus drew in a deep breath. "Regulus, sit." Regulus was already seated, though he did not dare point that out. "There are... certain family matters we must discuss." They both leaned forward. "Are you under the impression that I favour your brother?"

 _Act the fool, Reg._ "Well, he is still your heir, even though he's been cast out of the family tree..."

Arcturus told him what he already knew: "The tree is an abstract concept, Regulus. An heirloom. It is insignificant by way of determining who is part of what family. Even if your mother took out the bloody wall, it would not change the fact that Sirius is of Black blood, and in order to remove him from my family, she would have to drain him of every ounce of said blood that he so possesses, which, despite Bella's most obvious efforts, has not been done. And so he remains my heir, discounting your father, who is..."

"Mad?" Regulus suggested.

"Unsound of mind," Grandfather said, instead. "But more importantly - I do not favour any of my grandchildren. I love you all equally, misguided as some of you are. Sirius remains my heir for a multitude of reasons, aside from that of which I have already told you; he is the elder, his political views align with mine, for the most part, and lastly, because disinheriting him is virtually impossible without just cause."

"And shagging a mug- a mudblood isn't."

"Don't think I didn't notice that little slip up," Grandfather reprimanded. "But also, no, it is not. Sirius would have to not only commit murder but be charged guilty for it, or something worse which my mind will not fathom at this time. Do you have any questions?"

Regulars swallowed. "No."

"Well, then, I have one for you." Grandfather raised an eyebrow. "Do you intend, or want, to become a death eater, Regulus?"

At that, Regulus's stomach churned. He looked away from his grandfather, toward the unlit fireplace, and for the first time in his life, Regulus lied to Arcturus Black. "I do."

At that, Arcturus's eyebrows raised almost imperceptibly. His jawline hardened. "Then I suggest you get home, before supper gets cold. It's been a long day of... training."

* * *

James Potter ashed his cigarette and turned to Remus. "You're sure you're alright, Moony?"

"Aside from early-onset lunar symptoms, yes," replied his friend, from the red velvet chair upon which he sat and read. It was facing the bed which Sirius was currently slumbering in. A magic-induced sleep, of course, because without such be would be risking his life to save Marlene.

"I'm not," Peter whispered, from the window ledge. He was sat upon it with his head in hands. It was the first time he had spoken since he'd Floo-ed in, despite numerous attempts made by James and Remus to the contrary. "I should have done something, not run away. I was an idiot."

Remus closed his book on a finger and leaned over, putting a hand on Peter's back. "You were _afraid_ ," he consoled. "It was instinctive, and no one blames you."

Peter looked up at them through red-rimmed eyes. "But-"

"Peter," James said quietly, "it's alright."

At James's word, finality set in. Peter nodded, wiped his eyes, and resorted to waiting for Sirius to awaken. The mediwitch that Dad had hired for today and tomorrow had said that it would not be long (that, however, was not the reason for their presence there; James had been pacing at Sirius's bedside since he'd been placed there and would continue to do so until Sirius was well enough to tell him to bugger off).

"How is your mum fairing?" Remus asked - probably to give James something else to think about.

"Panicking, last I saw," James said, remembering. "I should go and talk to her."

"Yes, indeed," Moony replied, swiftly. "We'll yell if he wakes."

James nodded and slipped out, down the polished and dusted halls. His feet were silent upon the carpeted floors, but paintings and portraits filled the silence with cheery greetings and well-wishes. James might have exchanged words with them on any other day, when he had nothing better to do, but now there was purpose, and so he walked to his mother's apartments.

She was within, pacing the floor just as he had been doing. Mia Potter looked both anxious and composed at once, however she did it; the composure stemmed from her finely pressed blue satin robes and permanently regal face, and the anxiety from her fingers, which were in her mouth (for she was biting her nails), her worried and lined face, and slightly disheveled braided updo.

"James," she whispered, pulling him into a strong embrace. "I was going to fetch you, but then I thought you might want to be with Sirius, and-"

"It's fine, mum," he said, feeling supremely guilty for having made her wait here all of this time. "I should have come right after I got back, I'm sorry."

"It's fine, you're fine." She pulled back to study his face, pushing his hair from his eyes.

"I'm a git," he corrected.

She managed a small smile. "Only sometimes."

"How are you, then?"

His mother rolled her eyes. "'How am I?' he asks, as though he hasn't just been in a bloody explosion!" (She did that often; speak to the heavens in reference to her misfit son)

James raised an eyebrow to hide his amusement. "Why didn't you just come to see how I was?"

"I looked in on you and Sirius before, but you didn't notice, and I didn't want to disturb him. The mediwitch says he'll be fine, though. He's lost a lot of blood, but he'll last."

"Of course he will," James said, trying to pretend that he had not been worried out of his mind. "He's _Sirius_."

Her face became stony, then. "You need rest, love," she told him. "Get some sleep. I'll make some sandwiches for the boys-"

"But I have to wait for Sirius-"

"Dear, that boy is not going to so much as roll over in his sleep until I say so," his mother told him sternly, "now go upstairs to your room and take a damned nap, before I stun you."

* * *

When the sun rose, so did Lily.

Almost mechanically she detangled herself from Mary and Dora, and stumbled over to the window with the intent of shutting the curtains.

"Ginger?" Mary croaked, opening one eye. She lay on her stomach, with Dora snuggled into her side. The whole scene looked rather warm and inviting. Lily regretted leaving the solace of bed. "Want some breakfast?"

"It's only six-"

"It's fine," she replied, inching away from Dora without waking her. "You're up, I'm up. Might as well. 'Sides, I can never fall back to sleep once I'm up."

Lily nodded, conceding. "I'll get my dad up, then."

He did not have to go to the factory until eleven - this would be his first day back. Lily was immensely bitter that they had not given him longer than a week off, but the roof over her head relied on his income, and so she had not spoken her mind about the whole affair. It was wrong and cheap, but perhaps it would take her father's mind off of his grief.

She wouldn't be here to do that, soon enough, anyway.

Mary had put a pan on the stove and was preparing french toast by the time Lily emerged from her room, with a washed face and tied back hair. She set to work on tidying up the mess of the last few days (casserole dishes, napkins, beer bottles), trying to keep her thoughts off of Marlene.

There was a stack of toast that neither of them had touched when Frank arrived.

His hair was in several places and his eyes were wide when Lily admitted him. "Frank," she said, startled, "Frank, what's wrong? What happened?"

"Mum's floo-ing the Ministry... I woke up and-and Ally wasn't there, and so I searched and I was just about to go to her manor house, when... when..." he drew from his pocket a scrunched note, which he handed to Lily with shaking hands. "That came. By owl."

* * *

Sirius's eyes were dry when he managed to open them. The light stung, and so he closed them again, so as not to suffer. But then both pain and remembrance settled upon him. The memory of yesterday hurt so much more than anything he'd ever felt - the Cruciartis, his losses, every hex and insult...

"James," he croaked, mouth a desert. "Help."

There were soon hands. He could feel them touching him - pushing him into sitting position. Sirius swallowed and sensed that something about the atmosphere had dimmed. Indeed, the curtains around his bed had been closed, all except for the one on his left side, which oddly comforted him.

James was there, at his side, with an anxious face and a glass of water. Sirius needed help with that, too. Just the effort of drinking was exhausting.

"Are you in much pain?" James inquired.

Sirius, mouth now lubricated, was able to speak. "My skin feels stretched," he confessed. "And it stings. Everything is sore and stingy."

James nodded solemnly. "Healer Abbi said it would be like that," he told his best mate.

Sirius rubbed his temples. "Marlene...?"

"Still gone," said James. "Dad's got a team of people looking, another examining evidence, and another asking witnesses what they saw. And don't worry, you don't have to give a testimony; dad already took a copy of your memories whilst you were asleep."

Sirius frowned. " _That's_ rather invasive."

"Well it's not like you wanked off in the bookshop toilet," James snapped.

Sirius gave him a look.

James rolled his eyes, mouth purposely downwards to hide the fact that he wanted to grin. "Dad just didn't want to tire you out talking. Thought it would be better."

"Well, thank him for me," Sirius said. "Even this is taking a lot." _Not that it should. God, I feel so fucking weak._

James was on his feet in an instant. "I can leave," he said, "you can rest a little more, and then Remus and Pete'll visit, and-"

"James," Sirius interrupted. He patted the spot his mate had been occupying previously. With great hesitancy, James sat down again. "I feel like shite, but I still want to talk to you. Tell me what happened."

And so James did: they'd been eating ( _if you didn't remember, Pads_ ), when a few death eaters had shown up (like he could have forgotten that). Demetors had emerged from the firey recesses of Morgana's arse, evidently, and wreaked a whole load of havoc. Two people had lost their souls, and were now residing in St. Mungo's. Then aurors had arrived to detain both opposing forces, but not before Marlene had thrown herself at a death eater in an attempt to stay him, a six or so more people had died, and Bella had blown the place up.

"It's mostly been repaired," James told him, of Diagon Alley. "There's a lot of damage, though, and about seven people died from it. More would have, if they'd not been evacuated."

"Did it spread?"

"Like hell," James said, and then paused, "pun unintended. Or intended. Whatever. The squad stopped it in three directions, but it ripped through the south side - Knockturn Alley - which has now gone to shit even with repairs."

Sirius swallowed, heart heavy. "Who died?"

"No one we know," James replied. "Mostly older wizards and witches - my parents knew a few of them. She was up the whole night in tears when the list was released."

Sirius ran a hand through his hair. "Fuck, James," he whispered, utterly and completely horrified with the weight of this revelation. "This is bad. This is Diagon Alley. It's like, the central shopping place in London. And my stupid inbred cousin blew it up! Speaking of - how did she not die?! And how has she not been arrested?!"

"Well, as for the latter, when dad reviewed your memories, he said that she wasn't clear enough to properly identify. It's being taken in anyway, but the Wizengamot favours your family and we all know that."

"If she wasn't clear enough to identify, then how could I identify her?"

"Voice recognition? Anyway, your memory was all fucked up from the blast, so nothing was clear."

"And how did she survive, then?" Sirius challenged.

"Dragon-hide cloak," James replied briskly, refilling Sirius's water glass. "Aurors have them. So do death eaters apparently."

"Well, fuck that."

"Yeah." James ran a hand through his hair. "You really should rest some more. I'll come back in a bit with Tizzy, and she'll help you shower."

"I've always dreamed of having your house elf see my bits, Prongs," Sirius said dryly.

"Bugger off, Padfoot."

* * *

The manor was dark. Regulus threw down his hood as he entered, and then quickly transfigured his sooty cloak and leathers into pureblood finery. Mother would have no less. _Dignity over comfort, Regulus. Always._

He smoothed his hair into a coif as well, just to make sure that she would not suspect. As he walked deeper into the premises, the lights turned on, and then off as he passed. Cissy's little trick for hide-and-go-seek which had never been reversed.

The light was on within the kitchens. Kreacher and Zuki would be in there, preparing dessert. Regulus would not partake. After today's failure, he did not deserve it. _Am I honestly contemplating whether or not I deserve dessert?! Fuck that._

"Chocolate cake, Zuki, and make it quick," he called out to the noise in the back. Regulus removed his tailcoat and sat upon the kitchen counter, swinging his legs back and forth. The cake popped up next to him, and so he ate it, solemnly, as the two elves rushed back and forth whilst screaming at one another.

"Good stuff," he told the female elf as she zoomed past.

"Thank you, Master Regulus," she called madly, ears flopping as she ran. Regulus grinned at the sight.

"You're home," said a voice.

It was, of course, Walburga. She stood in the doorway, dressed in furs - but her fine clothing was unmatched by her natural beauty. Regulus concluded each nightly prayer with the plead that one day she become fat and ugly and miserable in old age. He hoped that the gods would answer.

As of now, she looked every inch a Black; long dark hair, which was spellbound to curl, and ominous grey eyes which stood out prominently against flawless pale skin, which would not sag or wrinkle until past the age of one-hundred or so (if that), thanks to her unnaturally pure blood.

The kitchen had stilled. The elves stared, plates and rags in hand. "I am," Regulus said. _Way to state the obvious, you old hag._

"You are spoiling your dinner."

"I didn't have much of an appetite," he lied swiftly. "Thought I'd missed it anyway."

She pursed her lips. "And so you sit down here, among the slaves - you deign to breathe the air that they breathe?"

Regulus knew what was coming. It took every fibre of his willpower to hold back his sarcasm, to reign in the eyeroll. "Yes."

Mother sniffed. "Well then, you may sleep here tonight, and perhaps by morning you will have learned your lesson."

Regulus kept his face emotionless as she pulled out her wand and locked the door closed on her way out. Dinner would not be served tonight. He waited a good five minutes before turning to Kreacher. "Apparate me to my room, will you, mate?"

Being the favourite child only meant you were tortured in different ways.

* * *

Bellatrix stared at her wall in the hopes that it would melt away.

It just wasn't fair. She didn't deserve to be grounded; it had been Reg who'd screwed up, not her! Reg - sweet but silly Reg. This was his fault. Suddenly he wasn't so appealing, anymore. He'd almost been her first kiss and everything (definitely he'd been her first love), and now he'd given her a broken heart.

She was going to make him pay.

* * *

Lily stared at the letter in her hands. Her heart was pounding in her ears at such a high volume she thought she would suffocate in it. The words blurred together. She realised that there were tears in her eyes. Hastily and determinedly, she wiped them away and looked up at the boy before her. "Oh, Frank..."

* * *

 **AN: Early chapter, because it's done and so why not! I really love writing this story, and reviews are great encouragement because they tell me that the people reading actually care enough about this story (which I put a lot of time into... *stares at you in the hope that you will feel some measure of guilt*). I'm worried about the title of the story. Since its in Latin, I think people might be scrolling past it with the assumption that it's in a foreign language... which would suck and explain why the views are so low.**

 **I don't want to obsess over numbers - it wouldn't be such a big deal if I knew that more than like, 15 people tops have read chapter 6. But yeah. Fun times. Lots of fun and love. Review, please. They are the sprinkles to the cupcake!**

 **Much love xx**


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